


Mischief Managed

by corvusdraconis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Origin Story, Alternate Universe, F/M, HP: EWE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2018-09-15 06:22:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 149,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9223019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvusdraconis/pseuds/corvusdraconis
Summary: [Hermione/Loki] Loki has been kicked out of Ásgarðr for bad behaviour. Odin thinks his frost giant heritage is to blame. But is it really?[AU/NC/EWE] (Not even trying for canon, sorry)





	1. Infuriatingly Failed Pranks

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Inspiration comes and goes, and sometimes it gets hard to write for my other stories when I have no idea what’s going to happen next. So, while I was beating my head against the desk, my beta and I were like “what about this idea” and BAM! This story! Hope you like it.
> 
> [Summary]: [Hermione/Loki] Loki has been kicked out of Ásgarðr for bad behaviour. Odin thinks his frost giant heritage is to blame. But is it really?[AU/NC/EWE] (Not even trying for canon, sorry)
> 
> Beta Love: The Dragon and the Loki (cough, I mean Rose), Dutchgirl01, and the Flyby Commander Shepard
> 
> Warnings: M for delicate sensibilities
> 
> Citrus Warning: Bring Sugar (for the end)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t don’t own the characters. I just play in the sandbox.

 

**Mischief Managed**

 

_ I guess I had what you could call an unconventional upbringing. - Joaquin Phoenix _

 

Loki laid his head down on the library desk. He was bored. He was so sick and tired of it all, really. There was only so much a god could  _ do  _ after they’d been kicked out of Ásgarðr for what basically came down to “bad behaviour.”

Thor and Frigga had tried repeatedly to get to the heart of the problem, but the truth was that even Loki himself didn’t have a clue as to why everything seemed to piss him off so much these days. Conversation pissed him off. The weather brassed him off. Cheerful voices around him made him want to scream and smash random things into random people. Odin, after seeing the fifth statue of some legendary Asgardian hero bite the dust, had decided that Loki needed to take an extended break from Ásgarðr, so he was unceremoniously kicked out the Bifröst and exiled to poor, unfortunate Miðgarðr. 

Glorious.

Only it wasn’t glorious at all. It was bloody well  **_BORING!_ **

Loki stared around the room, desperately looking to find someone, something,  _ any _ thing of interest. Even the books weren’t calling to him, and that was why he was here to begin with. Books usually did the trick. 

Bloody hell.

Loki smashed his head against the desk repeatedly. Deciding that the library needed a little— something, he wiggled his fingers and changed all the posters so they were turned upside-down. Then he randomly moved the books from 475.3 to 657.2. Quickly getting bored with that mild amusement, he ensorcelled the chairs so they wouldn’t give up the “victim” when they wanted to get out and buck them off when they tried to sit down. Of course, it only did that when no one was around to  **_SEE_ ** it actually happening, so the people thought they were going absolutely barking mad.

Even that game eventually lost its appeal, and he really, really wanted to get under someone’s skin. Playing with the fisherman got boring fast. The little towns here and there— all of them pretty much did the same thing. Scream at the same time. Run around like they were on fire when unduly stressed. 

But then he’d found this place— and  it seemed like some sort of a school. People ran around in boringly uniform robes with one four different types of school emblem, he presumed, stitched upon it. They carried their books. They had dorms, but there was something strangely… different about it.

No one saw him, unless he chose to allow them to, and when they did, they just saw some ordinary student who was easily missed and, oddly, a bit hard to describe when they tried to think about it. He liked it that way. He stole food off the tables, had an entire well-appointed bathroom to himself, thanks to encasing an annoying floating whiny ghost-girl (who had had the sheer audacity to peek in on him in the bath) in solid ice and throwing her into the lake and bonking a rather startled-looking massive squid squarely on the head. Or what passed for its’ head, anyway. 

“Sorry about that, mate,” Loki said. “No hard feelings, yeah?”

The squid still seemed slightly perturbed. Then again, Loki found that being peeped on while performing one’s morning ablutions was a little more than perturbing in itself, so— 

The classes in this school were strange. Archaic in some ways and yet intriguingly advanced in certain others. They all carried around sticks and couldn’t seem to do much without them, thought it seemed some people had a distinctly harder time than others even while using said sticks.

Once he had switched the sticks around, changing them so they looked like the old one. People were turning themselves into chickens, blinding themselves, and performing all manner of comedic acts in a futile attempt to do what they thought should be perfectly normal. It wasn’t, and it had been utterly hysterical to witness. Of course, by the time the older man with a white beard down to his waist came to check everything out, Loki had put all the sticks back to normal. Ah, that had been absolutely glorious.

This magic these humans wielded fascinated him. It seemed to rely on those pesky twigs, or “wands” as they called them. He didn’t like how they had to have a wand to perform magic. It seemed so backwards to him. If he had to whip out a wand and wave it around talking in an ancient Asgardian tongue every time he wanted to create a double of himself, he’d have told his mother she could just keep her feeble magic. Ugh.

They had some rather odd rules too. Can’t create food.  Why not?  _ He _ could create food. He could create strange frost beasts too— but he had been very careful to keep that particular secret from both Frigga and Odin. It didn’t seem quite as… Asgardian as it should have been.

Yet, they could turn stones into chickens. They could turn animals into goblets, desks into pachyderms— well, the more talented ones could. Some of them struggled with the easiest things. Well, if you made that chicken, why couldn’t you just kill and eat the damn thing? I mean, if you were that hungry, why not? Loki really didn’t get that at all. They made water come out of their wands easily enough. Just make yourself a kettle, fill it with water, and throw the damn chicken into it. Honestly was that truly so hard? Even Loki knew how to make chicken soup. All-Father’s curling toenails, it wasn’t **_that_** hard!

He spotted a curl-haired girl sitting alone in the back of the library, a mischievous smile spreading across his face. He licked his lips in anticipation. Perfect!

A large stack of books sat beside her, and one was overly fat with pages and deckled edges. He concentrated on it, willing his magic where he wanted it and releasing with with a thought.

**_RrrrrRRRRrrrrrr_ ** ,  the book growled, sprouting fangs and a pair of menacing elliptical eyes. It focused on the girl and opened its mouth. Its binding wriggled as it prepared to leap.

**_SPRONG!_ **

The book launched itself into the air at her.

The girl didn’t even look up as her hand went to the book’s spine, slowly caressed it, and the book gave a happy coo-growl, flopped over on its back, and let her read from it.

Loki’s jaw dropped to the floor.

When she was done, she closed the book, setting it back on the pile, and the book whimpered softly at her, trying to jump off the desk like lonely puppy and follow her out of the library. It would have too, had the hook-nosed vulture of a woman who ran the library not snatched up the  book and sent it careening back to the shelf it belonged to.

The book gave a sad little whimper as it was forced back into its place.

Loki just stared after the girl who had just left. Who  _ was  _ that?

As he walked by the whimpering book, he couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for it. It strained against the chains that held it shackled to the the shelf.

Did books here frequently attempt to run away from the library?

He touched the chain on the book and vanished it, curious to see what would happen. He had nothing but time, after all.  The book licked his hand in gratitude, hopped off the shelf and wiggled itself into the rucksack  of a boy who was just leaving the library— right under the nose of that odd vulture woman. 

Well, that was pretty interesting.

Wait, did he just get licked by a  _ book? _ Loki looked down at his hand where a little bit of book-paste drool covered his skin. Yes… yes, he certainly had.

Hermione woke up to the sound of soft snoring.

“Aw, Crooks, you’re snoring again,” Hermione muttered. Her hand reached out from under her duvet to pull her sleeping half-Kneazle in underneath the warm covers.

There was a soft, growling purr and a snuggle, and Hermione patted Crooks, slightly curious as to how Crooks ended up sleeping in such a strange position. He seemed to have a pretty strange feel to him this evening. Weird.

“Mmrowl,” Crooks meowed, hugging her hand with his paws.

Wait. If Crooks had been out  _ there _ , then who, or what, had been in the bed with her?

Hermione pulled back the covers and then covered herself again. She closed her eyes, counted to ten, then lifted it again.

“Hi?” Hermione said a bit tentatively. 

The tome that had attempt to follow her out of the library earlier, only to find itself swiftly retrieved by Madam Pince, had somehow found its way into her bed and was now cuddling up next to her like, well, her cat, Crookshanks. Professor Snape had given her permission to read the book to help her with the complex conditioning required for her to successfully connect with her Animagus form. She had been having strange meditations that didn’t seem quite right. She had felt scales but also feathers, and Minerva had also agreed that maybe Salazar’s old grimoires might contain some sort of clue as to what she might be dreaming about. So far, she had struck out completely, but—

The grimoire was purring against her, begging for pets, and she found herself stroking the book’s spine and between its, well, eyes. It was, oddly, far more well-behaved than the book Hagrid had chosen for his class, the rather infamous ‘Monstrous Book of Monsters’. Yet, this was, she thought, one of Salazar Slytherin’s famed grimoires. She was going to be in so much trouble!

**_PurrRRrrrRRRRRRRRrrrrr._ **

“Aww,” Hermione said softly, gently stroking the book as she would her cat. 

Crookshanks crawled into the bed with her and lay on top of the purring book, radiating pure contentment as only a feline could. 

Well, she supposed, today  _ is _ a lie-in day.

She was out like a light to the sounds of twin purring.

“You said you woke up to the grimoire… cuddled up next to you in bed?” Snape asked, his eyebrow raising like a ramp into his hair.

“I  _ swear  _ I didn’t steal it out of the library!” Hermione insisted, eyes wide.

“Don’t be daft,” Snape snapped. “Anyone who knows you at all would know that the last thing you’d ever do is steal out of the library. Out of my storage cabinet, however…”

Hermione flushed bright red. The grimoire purred and moved under her hand for more pets. She gave her professor a look of utter frustration.

Snape stirred his cauldron. “The asphodel, please.”

Hermione walked over to the cabinet and extracted the required jar. She walked back over and studied the burbling cauldron’s contents. As  Snape watched, she carefully placed a pinch of asphodel into the burbling mixture in three specific areas and made a gesture with her fingers over it.

“Ah,” Snape clucked approvingly.

Hermione smiled and put the jar away. 

“I will tell the Headmaster about the book so that you will not, as you fear, get into trouble,” Snape said with a bemused shake of his head.  “One of your fellow seventh years probably decided to get into mischief and the book took a shine to you. Merlin only knows if Salazar Slytherin himself charmed it to follow you around once it realised you actually  _ wanted  _ to read it.”

Hermione looked dubious. “I doubt Salazar Slytherin would want a Mu—”

Snape cut her off with a warning hiss, and Hermione immediately looked down.

Snape stirred the potion anti-clockwise and  put down the spoon. “Hermione,” he said lowly. “Do not ever use that foul word,  especially when referring to yourself. It is not a casual word or even a word befitting any social situation.”

“I’m sorry, Master,” Hermione apologised sincerely. 

Snape sighed. “Come here, foolish girl.”

Hermione shuffled up next to him, and Snape’s strong arms pulled her into a fond hug. She wilted against her master with a sigh.

“I’ve been training you since your second year, Hermione,” Snape said with a sad expression. “I have never once believed you serving of such a foul example of vernacular. You should never even consider using it to describe yourself. No matter  _ what  _ certain members of my insufferable house seems inclined to believe after returning to school after a pureblood family reunion.”

“At least it has gotten a little better since Harry stabbed that ruddy diary with a basilisk fang,” Hermione sighed. 

“Somehow I doubt if Dumbledore  _ or _ the Dark Lord ever imagined that basilisk venom was capable of causing a chain reaction that could affect all of the Horcruxes  and take every last one of them out in a single blow,” Snape said, slowly shaking his head at the memory of the momentous event in question.

“I just wish—” Hermione sighed deeply, clinging to Snape’s robes.

“Hermione Granger Snape,” Snape said sternly. “Your parents would have most assuredly been proud of you.” Snape’s face twisted painfully. “ **_I_ ** am proud of you.”

Hermione looked up into her adopted father’s face and wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him like a child of eleven again.

Snape soothed her hair. “Stupid girl,” he said warmly. “You could have had your pick of would-be adoptive parents when your own parents had their accident. Why, of all those who asked for such an honor, did you bloody well choose me?”

“Language, father,” Hermione teased with a loving smile, even imitating his rather distinctive drawl.

Snape  tutted. “Of all the things you could possibly pick up from me, you choose to pick up my personal mannerisms?”

“I can sweep from a room with a dramatic flair like the best of them now,” Hermione informed him cheekily.

“Hn,” Severus grunted. “Pick up your clingy book, which I have no doubt will not choose leave your side any more than that obnoxiously orange fuzz ball of yourse. Minerva wants you working on your meditations before breakfast, by the way.”

Hermione mumbled something into his robes.

“Hrm, what’s that?”

“Yes, father.”

“Hnn,” Snape grunted, placing his hand on her head. 

“Come on then,” Hermione said to the book, that was chasing one of Severus’s quills around his desk.

The grimoire gave up the chase and bounced toward her, bumping into the book of Arithmancy Hermione had sitting on the edge. The grimoire growled at the other book and bit it solidly on the spine. The Arithmancy book shuddered, sprouted golden fur and sparkles, two gemstone eyes, and a pair of delicate crystalline fangs. It tussled with the grimoire and growled and hissed, and then they both hopped into Hermione’s arms, purring madly.

Severus facepalmed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Off with you, silly girl. I’ll go tell Dumbledore. Just… don’t go into the library for a while. Otherwise the entire bloody library is going to want to follow you home.”

**_“RrrrRRrrrRRRrrrr!”_ **

“Oi, gerroff!” Ron complained loudly. “Get this bloody book off me!” He tried to kick the Grimoire, but the snarling Arithmancy tome promptly chomped on his ankle.

“If you wouldn’t behave like such an obnoxious prat, Ronald, they wouldn’t be trying to take bites out of you.”

“Grim, Rith,” Hermione called, and the books dropped off Ron’s abused legs and came in for their share of the cuddles.

**_PUrrrrRrRRRrrrRRrrrr._ **

“Bloody  _ unnatural  _ is what that is,” Ron muttered sulkily, sitting next to Harry. Harry shook his head silently, busily working on his homework. “Oi, Harry. How are  _ you  _ so calm?”

“I’m studying,” Harry said, scratching away with his quill. “Those two never bother you when you’re studying.”

Ron crossed his arms, silent for the moment.

“Hey, Ron, our N.E.W.T.’s are coming up soon, yeah,” Harry said, quilling something else down on the parchment. 

“Surprised you didn’t just take em early like ‘Mione,” Ron snarked, wrinkling his nose in clear disgust. “Just do a little bow and curtsy for greasy old Snape and he’d surely let you, right?”

**_Rrrrr!_ **

The two tomes chomped down hard on Ron’s elbows, causing him to scream shrilly like a little girl.

“Weasel, don’t you  _ ever  _ learn not to be a sodding idiot?” Draco muttered, sitting down next to Hermione and breaking out a large tin of biscuits. “Mum says try the peppermint ones. They’re the ones Dobby didn’t sneeze on.”

Hermione eyed Draco suspiciously.

“I’m kidding, but she did highly recommend the peppermint ones,” Draco said with a wink.

Hermione tentatively picked a mint biscuit out of the tin. “Thanks. I think.”

Draco elbowed Harry and thrust the tin towards him, and Harry plucked a random biscuit off the top and said his garbled thanks with his mouth full.

Draco just rolled his eyes. He opened up one of his books and began to read. 

“You figure out that Arithmancy equation Professor Vector gave us yesterday?” Hermione asked.

“No, I’m convinced she gave the thing to us in some sort of obscure ancient form of cypher,” Draco muttered.

Hermione nudged him.

“ **_Whatttt?”_ ** Draco bemoaned.

Hermione gave him a look.

Theo wrapped his arms around Draco and worked his mouth for him. “Please help me with my Arithmancy homework, my divine goddess Hermione. Pleeeeeease?”

Draco turned red and promptly beat on Theo with his fists as the other wizard snatched a biscuit from the tin with a wiggled brow.

“I really  _ wish  _ you’d stop calling me that,” Hermione said with a long-suffering sigh as she scribbled notes on Draco’s parchment, circling one area and pointing to another.

Draco stared down at what she’d written, immediately facepalmed, and grudgingly corrected his work.

Theo shrugged and smiled disarmingly. “I’m telling you, Hermione, you’re going to be a quetzalcoatl, and they are ancient gods.”

Hermione slammed her head against the desk, and Grim and Rith bounced over to cushion her head. “Can’t I just have messed up my Animagus meditations instead of assuming that feathers and scales equals some ancient Mesoamerican feathered serpent god?”

Theo snorted. “Why dream small? You’re a Gryffindor, right?”

Hermione rolled her eyes at Theo. “Simply a realist.”

“Gryffindors are  _ incapable  _ of being realistic,” Theo taunted.

Harry snickered into his sleeve.

Hermione glared at Harry, and Rith promptly bit his arm.

“ **_Ow!_ ** I apologise! I swear, I apologise!” Harry yelped, trying to pry the ever-protective book off his arm.

Hermione burst into giggles and gently took Rith off of Harry, petting the golden book between the eyes until it purred and happily snuggled up against her. She frowned  suddenly, waving her hand, “Protego.”

Ron suddenly sprouted bunny ears and found himself sporting a stunning Princess Leia costume, complete with metallic bikini, chains and boots.  Ron felt his ears, stared down at the remains of his ‘clothes’, and screamed, running out the Great Hall towards the school infirmary.

Hermione eyed the three wizards a bit suspiciously. “I  _ know  _ you lot slept over at Grimmauld and watched Muggle sci-fi movies all weekend with Sirius,” she said. “So which one of you did **_that?_ ** ”

Theo, Draco, and Harry held up their hands emphatically. 

“Wasn’t me!” they chimed together. “I **_swear!_ ** ”

Hermione mumbled something disparaging in Latin.

Draco handed Hermione another biscuit. “I sneezed on this one just for you.”

Hermione gave Draco a scathing sideways glance. He gave her a cheeky grin in return.

Hermione took the biscuit and held it out, and Grim and Rith squabbled over it, devouring it together.

Draco pouted. “You’re no fun, Hermione Jean Snape.”

“You know who my father is,” Hermione said with an all-too-familiar derisive sniff.

“Uncle Professor Anti-Fun,” Draco muttered.  **_“OW!”_ **

Rith bit his face as Grim kidney punched him.

Hermione went back to studying as Harry and Theo snickered and exchanged a galleon under the table.

Loki tapped his fingers on the table, annoyed that his spell had somehow entirely missed his intended victim and instead hit the annoying red-headed male. He wasn’t too unhappy as the redhead most assuredly deserved it and his horrified reaction was quite satisfying, but his ultimate goal was finding a way to get under that bushy-haired girl’s lovely skin. The magic he had used to animate the book had apparently spun the dial on the chaos wheel and and found a way to infect several other books— all of which seemed to dutifully attend the girl he kept trying to annoy. Well, not even really annoy, to be honest. He just wanted to see what happened when someone got a rise out of her. Unlike his brother, father, and even his mother— this little wisp of a girl was capable of letting just about everything roll right off of her and simply go on about her business.

Maybe it was being raised in this strange school that did it and considered that possibility.

No, he finally decided, his antics could and did still affect all of the others here.

There was something about  _ her _ . Something… he just couldn’t put his finger on exactly what that was, however.

Despite her apparent ease amongst the group she was currently sitting with, he couldn’t help but notice that she hugged her dutiful tomes to her a little tighter as she wandered the school, often very much alone. In fact, it seemed to him that the tomes had come to realise the girl needed a good deal more companionship, as they kept sinking their teeth into other books and making more converts for her attention. 

Whenever she fell asleep in the library, the books would huddle under her head and arms, giving off content and happy vibes that their mistress was resting among them.  Whenever the hook-nosed vulture woman would come by, they would scatter, flopping open or stacking themselves like perfectly ordinary books,  pretending so they would not be forced back onto a shelf and away from their chosen mistress. Then, just as soon as the vulture-woman gone and they were out the range of her beady-eyed scrutiny, the books would huddle around the girl again,  purring and snuggling happily.

The only one that seemed to put the wayward books in their place was the orange  _ un _ -feline that seemed far too intelligent to be a mere housecat. Sometimes the fluffy orange bugger would pad up to him, tail waving lazily as he stared up at him, even as no one else seemed to notice he was there. He’d then make himself at home in Loki’s lap, making sure to knead so very,  _ very  _ close to his vulnerable male assets.

Loki found himself begrudgingly petting the orange menace even as he tried to find another way to pester the ginger feline’s mistress. As he twiddled his thumbs, he made the writing on all the books appear to be backwards, causing many of the students to stare and boggle,  vainly attempting to turn the page to see the writing from the other side. 

Loki smirked in amusement, happy to have at least irritated  _ some _ one to the point of utter frustration. Yet, when he looked over to where that infuriatingly unflappable girl was, he saw she was calmly reading her books by looking at the reflection in a hand mirror, absently  stroking the book to get it to turn the page for her.

Damnation. Something, somehow had to get under her skin!

Loki scowled. The game was  _ on _ .

“You, beast,” Loki accused the feline in his lap. “You will reveal your human’s secrets to me.”

Crookshanks hissed and bit his finger.

Loki rubbed his temples. His attempts to humiliate the man who reminded him so very much of his father was failing utterly. He had turned all the objects on the man’s desk into those foul-tasting lemon candies, and the man simply ate them like they were, well, candy.

He had tried to set his bird on fire (it was looking sick and almost dead anyway) but the bird turned to ash and rebirthed itself as a fluffy, adorable chick that joyfully chased Loki around, chirping madly at him. The man couldn’t see him, but damn it, that ridiculous bird so obviously  _ did _ .

He made all the portraits change positions, but the old man didn’t even seem to notice. He made the man’s beard invisible, but he continued to stroke the invisible beard like it was still there, not even missing a beat. He turned the man’s robes into pink and purple fluffy bathrobe material, and everyone complimented him on the daring change in wardrobe.  

Deciding to choose a few other victims, he took a page from his father’s book and turned a random teacher into a wolf, hoping that he would at least eviscerate someone and cause a little movement, activity, or increased pulse rate. But no. No and no. The man just curled up in his chambers and ate chocolate before curling up to sleep in a ball formation in front of the crackling hearth.

Then he tried to get the viney plants in the greenhouse to cause trouble, and a pudgy woman came in and started waving her wand around. The plants all sat up straight and rubbed apologetically on her sleeves.

So, Loki decided to nick the strange mammals with bill-like faces and release them into the halls. The hulking man had them locked in a cage in his hut under about fifty assorted locks. That was practically crying out for an unfortunate prison break. Loki was always willing to lend a hand, so he broke all the locks and set them loose in the halls.

“They’re so cuttttteeeeeeeeeeee!” Ginny squealed, picking up the little Niffler in her hands.

The Niffler squirmed and tried to get away, but Ginny cuddled it to herself as adeptly as any trap. 

Luna held one upside down and massaged its abdomen, causing the wiggly creature to eject a large pile of shiny objects ranging from bottles of ink to marbles, assorted chess pieces, hair ornaments, knuts, galleons, and about fifteen butterbeer cap necklaces. “Hrm, I think I found out what happened to all of my charms.” The Niffler cursed at her in Nifflerese, obviously not very happy with Luna’s having robbed the robber, as it were.

Ginny tried to look into her Niffler’s pouch, but the creature slapped her hands, glaring back at her. She tried to do what Luna had done, but the Niffler wriggled free and jumped away, hiding itself between the two drowsy books napping on Hermione’s bed. Ginny tried to reach in and make a grab for it, but the books growled at her, snapping their tooth-lined paper maws. She took her wand and tried to stun them, but missed one. The one book lay flat open, twitching, as the other launched itself at Ginny’s face.

“Eeeee!” Ginny squealed, beating the book back with a nearby pillow.  **_“‘Mione! ‘MIONE! Help!”_ **

“W--what?” Startled, Hermione looked up from the book she was reading. “ What are you doing to my book?”

“Your book is  **_attacking_ ** me!”

“Looks like you’re beating the poor little guy with my pillow!” Hermione retorted. She snatched Grim out of the air and cuddled him, making soothing noises at the agitated tome.

The Grimoire purred and settled, and Hermione went back to reading her book, her hand gently stroking Grim between the eyes. Rith shook off the stunning spell, growled menacingly, and then launched himself at Ginny in a flurry of  paper and snapping.

**_“Eeeeeeeee! Mione!!!!”_ **

Luna reached over and pet the book on the spine causing it to release Ginny’s face. She pulled it into her lap and cuddled it as she held the Niffler under one arm and continued to study with Hermione.

“Hermione, what do you think the reason is that you don’t add Agrimony in with Slowlug slime to made a base for the slowing potion?” Luna asked idly, tapping her quill against the parchment.

Hermione leaned over the bed to look, the niffler having hid itself in her hair. It looked around fearfully and dove back into Hermione’s hair. “Which slowing potion?”

“There’s more than one?” Luna asked.

“Well there is the one that is used to slow time, the one that is used to slow the body’s metabolism, one that is—”

“This one, ‘ermione!” Ginny said,  pointing to the book as she wiped the blood from the vast array of paper cuts on her face.

Hermione squinted and leaned in. A stealthy paw reached out of Hermione’s hair and nicked Ginny’s necklace. “Oh,  _ that  _ one. That potion is terribly archaic. Are you sure that’s the one Professor Snape wants you to write an essay about?”

“It’s the only one I could find,” Luna said with a sigh.

“Well, let me see if  _ I _ can find—” Hermione sighed. “I can’t remember which book it was in. Mine or the ones from the—”

A scruffy-looking, rainbow-furred book hopped off the shelf and into her outstretched hand. “Oh,  _ this  _ one!” She cooed at the book in question, planting a kiss on its edge. She tickled the spine and it eagerly opened for her.

“Here we go, a Slowing Potion for Corporeal Beings,” Hermione said, tapping the page. “It uses Slowlug slime too, but it leaves out the Agrimony.”

“Perfect!” Luna said. “Most excellent, in fact. Ginny, did you want to look too?”

Ginny just sighed. “ **_Why_ ** does he always give us assignments for potions that aren’t even in our textbooks?”

“I’m sure there is a copy or two in the library,” Hermione assured her. “I just have one because—”

“Snape,” Ginny grunted, rolling her eyes dramatically. 

“I really wish you wouldn’t make Professor Snape’s name sound like a swear word or pond scum whenever you say it.”

“He’s a bloody  _ git _ , Mione!”

Hermione closed her eyes and sighed. “Luna, just put the book back when you’re done, okay? I’m going for a walk.”

Hermione swept from the room much like her father, with only the flutter of her robes trailing behind her before Ginny could even sputter a, “Hermione,  **_wait!_ ** I didn’t—”

**_RrrrRRrrRRRRRRR!_ **

The entire bookshelf snarled and launched itself at Ginny.

Meanwhile, Luna hummed an odd tune as she industriously wrote out her essay, utterly oblivious to the shrieks and screams that were echoing off the walls.

Hermione stood at the top of the Astronomy Tower, her eyes burning with the flames of her anger— a deep-rooted anger that simmered just below her pale skin. Inside, she was filled with fire like the churning, molten magma at the earth’s core.  Her outer face was usually calm. She learned much from her adopted father. She had learned to turn the other cheek when called a Mudblood. She learned to suppress, bury, and add her pain and indignation into that endless sea of seething, molten fire within. She buried her Gryffindor fire under a finely-crafted mask of Slytherin ice, and she covered  _ that  _ over with smiles or a simple lack of response.

But now—  _ now  _ she could feel scales moving just beneath her skin. Her skin was tight and stretching. Her body was fighting to make the fateful shift that would end all shifts.

_ Free. _

_ Free us. _

For over a year now, she had meticulously studied, meditated, and researched. The dreams had been vivid, confusing, and yet breathtakingly beautiful. But still she had been frightened. Afraid to allow herself the freedom to go through that final, alluring, whispering ecstasy.

Because she  _ knew—  _ if she let herself go to it she would be transformed down to her very soul into her true, authentic self. It called to her. It called like the song of a siren to let herself go— to become one with it and take her destined place on the cosmic wheel.

She could see it so clearly in her dreams.

_ Many have tried. _

_ Tried and failed? _

_ Tried and died. _

Hermione had always found her refuge within books, but even the books told grim stories of those who struggled to obtain enlightenment to save their people, and a great many of those who died trying.

There were those who died trying to become an Animagus, caught forever in-between, trapped as an animal, overwhelmed by the alien, or locked within a human mind, believing all the while that they were something else. Professor McGonagall had learned her way into her own form as a matter of academics. She had said that many did it to reach the peak of their skill and demonstrate their mastery—

But Hermione had been dreaming of feathers and scales ever since she was a tiny child. As far back as she could remember, in fact. Long had she dreamed of the beautiful, scarlet-eyed serpent that had entwined itself around her own body and made her very soul sing of blissful completion. But then, she had come to Hogwarts, and Hogwarts  _ hated  _ snakes. 

Snakes… hated  _ her _ .

Mudblood.

Muggleborn witch.

Not even worthy of the magic that flowed through her very veins.

Her parents’ death had cut her off from unconditional love. Then, Professor Snape had adopted the frantic, sobbing, heartbroken waif of a girl. He had taught her strength, will,  and how to whisper potions into being that no book could, or would, ever record.

And now Ginny had just insulted the one living person who had found it within himself to love  _ her _ , like there was nothing remotely redeemable about him whatsoever. Hermione’s fists clenched tighter, her fingernails digging cruelly into her palms. Blood dripped onto the pristine marble below. 

_ Free. _

She climbed up onto the railing.

The wind itself beckoned to her. She could practically  _ smell  _ it— freedom.

Her arms crossed in front of herself, tightening, pulling in, stretching, shifting. Her fingers shortened, fused. Her humerus cracked, sliding itself backward. Her body thrummed with magic as her soul memorised every single change that was occurring. Inside of her, her very DNA was changing. Her mitochondria worked overtime. Her cells multiplied, mutated—

_ Free. _

Her eyes began to glow. Twin suns filled her eye sockets, blazing brilliant light in the radiance. 

_ Fragile, pathetic human skin. Begone. _

Hermione flung herself into the air, seeming to just hang there , floating as if suspended by invisible strings.

**_“No!”_ **

Hermione turned, her golden, burning eyes boring holes into a figure with long, glossy black hair, and pale eyes that sparkled like the ice floes in the sea. He was running towards her. 

Hermione looked upon him almost sadly, but she found she could not wait any longer. The skies above beckoned to her. The stars themselves called out to her like a siren’s song. And she— she herself would send out a beseeching call of her own to  _ him _ , the one who had been haunting her dreams from the first time she could remember her dreams at all. 

She fell back, gravity claiming her body at last, just as the whoosh of hands missed her but by a mere fraction of an inch. 

Heat consumed her entire body. Molten, like her own, personal core of endless fire, molten metal and burning gas— whatever  _ it  _ was, it oozed out of every single pore. Scales erupted from her skin like molten leaves. Her arms pitched back, feathers bursting from her skin and then from their shafts, blooming like night flowers in the light of the moon. Her body elongated, her face extended into a massive, serpentine head with glossy scales covering every single centimeter of surface that was not covered in plumage. Emerald and blue feathers crowned her head as ruby feathers— the colour of fresh blood— erupted on her chest and flowed like water all the way down to her belly. Shimmering scales slid down her elongating tail as blue, scarlet, and green feathers erupted from the end of her tail. A mane of strikingly iridescent feathers spread across her back and head and shimmered and shone brightly. Each feather seemed to take on the radiance of the very sun itself. 

**_“Hrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!”_ **

She screamed as her body expanded and grew, expanding outward like that of the Occamy to fit any space.  Her massive coils unraveled, stretching her body to its full length. Her enormous wings unfurled. She shone like the fiery sun in the very blackest depths of the Abyss. 

**Whump.**

**Whump.**

**Whump.**

The powerful beats of her great wings thumped in the air. 

**_“Hrrraaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”_ **

She opened her mouth wide, sending out the call that shook the nigh-endless walls and corridors of Hogwarts. 

She stared down at the now  _ very  _ small man who gaped in frank astonishment at her from the top of the Astronomy Tower. Her golden eyes burned as she bored into him with her gaze. Her nostrils flared, long tongue extended to taste the air around him. He reached out  for her—

**_“Hermione!”_ **

The great feathered serpent turned to where the call had come, her massive body moving toward the main school where two figures stood on the ramparts, their wands held up  to light the way. The serpent tested the air in front of them and slowly lay her head down on the castle’s stone.

“Hermione, you’re  _ beautiful _ ,” Minerva praised in sheer awe, touching the golden scales on her nose with open wonder. 

Snape placed his hand on her warm scales, silently communing without the use of all-too-clumsy words. 

**_“Hnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn,”_ ** Hermione sang, the sound like the lows of a great sea whale. She nudged them both,  lowering her head a little more in invitation.

“Are you sure, lass?”

**_“Hnnnnnnn,”_ ** Hermione answered,  nudging with her head.

Severus climbed up behind Hermione’s head, nestled in  her feathers, and held out his hand to pull Minerva up in front of him. They both settled in her feathers, hands wrapping around the huge shafts to  remain steady.

Hermione launched into the air, casting her brilliance down upon Hogwarts as she carried two professors with her over Black Lake and to the clouds above.

She bellowed out a keening cry as her glorious radiance faded.

“I  **_TOLD_ ** you she was a quetzalcoatl!” Theo’s voice rang out down on the green.

“Mr Nott, Mr Malfoy, that is ten points each from Slytherin for being out after curfew!” Flitwick admonished. “Go back to your common room at once, please!”

“Oh, blessed serpent of the skies!” Theo yelled as they went back down the halls. 

_ “From Above, House of Heaven _

_ Where star people and Ancestors gather _

_ May their blessings come to us Now _

_ From Below, House of Earth _

_ May the heartbeat of her crystal core _

_ Bless us with harmonies to end all war!” _

Theo and Draco disappeared down the stairs to the Slytherin dormitories, but up in the Ravenclaw girls’ dorm, Luna stroked the multi-coloured book as she wrote on her  parchment. She hummed, sing-song, her voice in a trance-like state.

_ “Oh Yum Hunah Ku Evam Maya E Ma Ho! _

_ All Hail the Harmony of Mind and Nature!” _

“Oi!” Ron said as he waited for Harry to move the chess piece. “What’s so fascinating that has you staring out that window?”

Harry stuck his head out the window and then pulled it back in. “I don’t know. For a minute I thought—”

“Thought what, Harry?”

“For a minute there, I thought it was dawn.”

Ron just snorted and shook his head. “Just move your piece, mate. It’s not the first time one of Hagrid’s critters got loose and started bellowing the castle down.”

“Name?” the bored-looking old wizard at the desk droned.

“Hermione Jean Granger Snape.”

“Credentials?”

Hermione exchanged a glance with her professors and they waved her on with a tired gesture. She took off her masters signet and plunked it down on the desk.

The man picked it up and stared at it. “It’s not complete.” 

“My masters have not yet pinned me.”

“Your master.”

“My  _ masters _ , sir.”

The man stared at her, narrowing his eyes. “A  person only has but one master.”

“Unless she has two,” Hermione returned stonily.

“I cannot accept your application without full credentials,” the man sneered, curling his lip and wrinkling his nose at her. 

“Is it any wonder so many new Animagi consider  _ not  _ registering?” Hermione growled.

“If you do not have credentials, we will have to refer you to the Auror’s office where you will be detained for being an  _ un _ registered Animagus.” He smirked cruelly.

“That is what she is here to do, you blithering ignoramus!” Minerva hissed furiously. “When **_I_ ** registered, there were none of these so-called “credentials” needed! You just showed them your form and signed a paper, for Merlin’s sake!”

“According to Section 2257 of the updated Animagus Registry By-Laws as written by Minister for Magic Cornelius Oswald Fudge and witnessed by Madam Secretary Dolores Jane Umbridge, all wizards and witches not born of one of the listed pureblood magical families must prove their mastery of a school of magic by official documentation and a practical demonstration of silent, wandless magic to prove they are even capable of performing  _ proper  _ magic.” The man looked utterly smug and secure in his self-righteousness.

“I’m betting that  _ you  _ can’t cast a silent, wandless spell to wipe your undersized cock, you moronic piece of fossilised dragon dung,” Severus hissed at the offending man in Latin.

Hermione and Minerva turned to stare at Severus. He merely arched a brow at them.

“Well, let’s get this done then,” Severus said, holding out his hand to Minerva. “Give us the signet.”

Hermione placed the master’s ring into their joined hands, and Severus and Minerva placed their hands on hers to keep her in the loop. Curling wisps of magical heat rose up from the power called by their combined palms.

“I, Master Severus Snape, Master to Hermione Jean Granger Snape, do proclaim her Mastery in the field of Potions, competent in all things pertaining to the cauldron, and fully qualified to take on an apprentice of her own whenever she so desires. So mote it be.”

“I, Master Minerva McGonagall, Master to Hermione Jean Granger Snape, do proclaim her Mastery in the field of Transfiguration, competent in all things pertaining to transformation of what is living or otherwise, and fully qualified to take on an apprentice of her own whenever she so desires. So mote it be.”

“This I swear,” they said together. “Upon my magic. Upon my honour.”

They lifted the signet together as it reformed into the Master’s full signet mounted on a startlingly realistic representation of a magnificent feathered serpent. The ring curled around Hermione’s ring figure and slithered around her  finger, blazing with the sealed magic of her combined masters.

Hermione turned, silently, and placed her hand on the desk, her new mastery ring hugging her hand. “Your credentials. Sir.”

The man scratched himself and sniffed in disdain. “You  _ still  _ have to satisfy the silent, wandless condition.” He held out his hand for her wand.

“ **_I_ ** will hold it,” Severus said, taking the wand from  her and tucking it away. Then he and Minerva stepped back— way back.

“Where the  _ hell  _ do you think you two are going?”

“To give her sufficient room.”

“You swear to me that if I display for you an undeniable show of my silent and wandless magic that you will sign that contemptible registration form and this entire farce will be over?” Hermione asked, eyes narrowing in clear suspicion.

“Go ahead and try, little Mudblood.”

Severus stiffened visibly, his black eyes going even darker and flashing dangerously with suppressed anger, but Minerva shook her head slightly and held him back.

“You might wish to shield your eyes for a moment. Sir.”

“So you can have one of  _ them  _ perform the magic for you? No, I think I’ll just watch, thanks.”

Hermione’s eyes bled into twin suns. “As you wish. I  _ did  _ warn you.”

Hermione’s body seemed to blur, her arms stretching out in front of her as if to force her muscles into place, but then there was a hot wind of magic as light consumed her body— the blazing furnaces of the molten Earth flirted with the burning gases of the sun. 

**_“HrrrrrrrrahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhHHRRRRRR!”_ **

Her body expanded rapidly as her form overcame her without any of the awkwardness of her first time. Her cells  _ remembered _ . Her very soul now knew the way. Her roar shook the very walls of the Ministry of Magic as her wings burst through the floor above and her massive tail slammed into the walls around around her. 

**SLAM!**

**SLAMMMM!**

**CRASHHHHH!**

Plaster and marble went flying in all directions.

Hermione’s tail whipped around Severus and Minerva, protecting them within her mighty coils as the ceiling fell down and the walls crashed around them. Great clouds of dust flew everywhere, as thick and impossible to see through as library paste. 

**Fhnnnn.**

**Fhnnnn.**

Breaths of the great serpent puffed clouds in the clouds of debris. Radiant light blazed through it, blinding as it reflected off of every particle. 

**Whommm.**

**WHOOMMM.**

**WHOMMMMM!**

Beats of great wings blasted the dust away and out in thunderous gusts of  uncontrolled wind. The dust cleared to reveal the giant head of the quetzalcoatl looming over the registry wizard’s desk. Her golden head shone in a blazing, sun-like radiance. Feathers in all the colours of the rainbow rustled in the settling wind. 

Aurors stood, wands out and pointed to the side as their wielders carefully shielded their eyes. Only one, who shielded one eye with his hand, allowed the strange artificial eye to look around for him. He held out his hand. “Lass, be that you underneath all that plaster and scales?”

“ **_Hnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn,”_ ** Hermione sang to him.

“Got your message, Minerva,” Alastor said. “Good thing too,” he said. “We still have a few remnants just like this pontificating arse left over from Fudge— and a few other assorted wankers who think they can get away with what they did back when those two witless knobs were still here.”

“Isn’t that right, Marley?” Alastor yelled, kicking the man’s desk.

“So…. beautiful,” the man said, eyes glazed over, a long, shiny line of drool hanging out the side of his mouth.

“Just sign the bloody papers, Marley, and give her the sodding pin, you bloody berk.”

Marley signed the paper in front of him and held out the pin, his expression entirely somewhere else. “Anything. Anything for  _ her _ .”

“Oh boy,” Alastor grunted. “Snape. Granger Snape. Can you tone down the mood lighting just a tad, please? Maybe give us a little room here?”

Hermione’s form shimmered and shuddered, her body condensing and then reforming, shrinking rapidly. The radiance condensed into her eyes and then faded, changing into warm, golden-brown irises.

Moody grunted in satisfaction, slamming a stamp of his own down on the paperwork. “I hereby declare you properly registered and witnessed by myself, and that lot,” he said, chucking his thumb at all the baffled-looking Aurors crowded around the remains of the registry’s office door.  He sniffed, pinning the registry mark to Hermione’s collar. He then took the tool from the desk and dipped it into shimmering ink. “The neck is the usual place. Do you have a particular preference, lass?” 

“Neck is fine,” Hermione said, tilting her head.

Alastor tilted her head a little to the side and pressed the device to the skin behind her ear. “Pin is customary, but the mark is what tells anyone who  _ really  _ needs to know if you are registered or not.”

Hermione nodded and smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

“Alastor, Sn—”

“Hermione?”

“Hermione.”

“Thank you, Alastor.”

Moody grunted. “Do me a favour and, in the future, please try not to transform in enclosed spaces where you can’t fix it easily with magic?”

Hermione smiled somewhat abashedly. “Sorry.”

Moody just shook his head. “I have no doubt whatsoever that this twerp asked for it.”

Moody didn’t notice as a pair of stealthy paws relieved him of the marking device.

A stumbling, dust-covered beetle staggered across the room, and Severus leaned over and picked it up by the wings, pinning it carefully between his thumb and index finger. His lip curled back from his teeth in a slight grimace. “This isn’t a native British species of beetle. I’d like to take it back with me and use it for potion ingredients, if you don’t mind, Auror Moody?”

“Take whatever bugs you might happen to find, Professor Snape,” Alastor said with a wave of his hand.

“Ah good, I’ll just tear off the wings and antennae right here,” Severus said. “The rest is useless for my purposes.”

Suddenly, the large beetle buzzed frantically.

_ BzzzZzzZzzzZ…  _ **FOOP.**

Alastor’s face twisted into a broad, near-maniacal grin. “Ah, hello there, Ms Skeeter-Animagus. I’ve been waiting ever so patiently for you to fuck up for quite some time now.”

The other Aurors immediately had their wands out, pointed directly at her head.

“My day just got so much better,” Alastor said with a short laugh, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “Lads, please escort our friend Ms Skeeter here to a nice, comfy holding cell and make sure she has an Animagus suppression collar on, would you?”

“Yes, sir!” the other Aurors chorused enthusiastically, prodding Rita out of the room— far too stunned to say so much as a single word in her own defence.

“I’ll leave the cleanup of this room, er, floors, to the people who do it for a living,” Alastor said.  “If  **_I_ ** do it, the desks will be all be upside down and likely fused to the floor that way. I’ll take old Marley here to Mungo’s and see if whatever scrambled his brain is a permanent thing.”

“So pretty,” Marley said rather dreamily. “Look at all the pretty colours.”

“I much prefer him like this, to be honest,” Alastor admitted.

Hermione grinned sheepishly as fiendish little paws rifled through Marley’s pockets, snatched all of the pretty, shiny things and promptly disappeared.

Loki found himself in dire need of one of Thor’s more potent alcoholic beverages, and all he could find was scads of woefully inadequate coffee and pumpkin juice. All of the tea tins seemed to be missing from the entire school along with the tea balls. He conjured up something to drink, but it wasn’t anything that would’ve rendered Thor even slightly tipsy. Still, it was better than that dreadful pumpkin juice, so he drank it down and tried to ponder what was currently going on inside his head— or his body for that  matter.

He could  _ still  _ feel the siren call of the great serpent stirring things within the unexplored depths of his body that he’d never felt before, ever. It had stirred something inside his heart and soul too. It was like tasting something utterly exquisite for the very first time and realising you’d been missing it since forever. 

Quetzalcoatl. The great feathered serpent god of Miðgarðr. A goddess in this  _ particular  _ case.

Even the mighty Jötunn knew what they were. They were the deities of the winds and learning. They were the shepherds and guardians of the younger creatures.  To some, they were the personification of the Creator. To others, they were the keepers of the boundary between the earth and sky. But the Jötunn saw them as something far more personal, and Ásgarðr tended to dismiss it entirely. Loki, of course, wanted to  _ know _ , so he had all but buried himself in the scrolls and legends. Enemies they might be, but the Jötunn were undeniably powerful beings. They had the Casket of Ancient Winters that did freeze their enemies and could plunge entire realms into conditions not unlike that of the Ice Age. But the Jötunn were entirely immune to all things cold. Asgardians, however, were most assuredly  _ not _ .

Yet he— while he felt the chill of winter somewhat, he had never found once himself in need of a coat. He wore them because Frigga always dressed him properly for the weather, but he had never actually felt that he  _ needed  _ it. Thor did. But  _ why _ ?

For years now, at least as the Asgardians viewed time, he had started to wonder why there were certain— things— that were very different for him, things that undeniably set him apart from his peers. He’d inexplicably started becoming more angry. More emotional. He’d begun lashing out while Thor had first started to focus on blazing his own trail and conquering it for glory and honour. Loki, however,  felt strangely tight within his own skin, wanting to know more and yet he never seemed to  _ find  _ the answers he sought so very desperately. It made him even angrier, and he had started to take things out on— anyone and any _ thing _ with the misfortune to get in his way: statues, tables, and the really gaudy tapestries that no one really wanted to look at, had they but been honest about it.

Still, all of that wanton destruction had, at long last, caused Odin to decide to cast him down to Earth to “learn some humility.”

Meanwhile, Thor was up there drinking entire vats of ale and loving his women and probably dragging the Warriors Three and Sif off on many great adventures. Pity poor little Loki isn’t around,  _ right _ , Thor? He was always good for complaining about how you were forever breaking the rules.

Loki twitched. That call.  _ Her _ call. He found he wanted to roll in it. Bask in it. If he closed his eyes, he could still  _ feel  _ it within his very soul. He wanted— wait, what  _ did  _ he want? 

Human.

Short-lived, fleeting human life.

Quetzalcoatl.

Quetzalcoatl were definitely far more than merely human. They were  _ gods _ . Just like him.

What had that old legend said? Something about— he couldn’t quite remember. It was right there, somewhere swimming in the murky waters of his mind, but all he could seem to spot was the elusive tip of a fin, just before it submerged into the depths below once more.

Light footsteps shook him out of his thoughts, and he looked up.

It was  _ her _ , carrying quite an assortment of bags. She was also pushing a large trunk along with her foot, having charmed it to be weightless. That big orange feline of hers was trotting after her, following her to wherever she was going. She was taking all of it  _ some _ where, and she only had two arms, after all. 

“Here, let me help you,” he heard himself say, and he rushed to pick up her trunk. It was, as he expected, quite light.  

“Thanks,” she said. Her smile was small, but it was quite genuine.

A train of books were hopping along behind her, each carrying a random object of some sort: a hairbrush, a tube of something, a drinking cup. 

They walked side by side, saying little. It seemed as though they were traveling from the high tower to the very bowels of the earth. Well, the bowels of the castle, at least. He watched her as he walked, trying to memorise the features of her face. “Why are you moving out of your tower?” he asked curiously.

Her brow crinkled slightly. “Headmaster Dumbledore told me since I have already sat my N.E.W.T.s and earned my mastery that I am no longer a student at Hogwarts. I can no longer live in the dormitories with the students anymore.”

“Where are you moving to?” Loki asked.

“Headmaster Dumbledore gained permission to set up my new quarters next to my father’s, as we are family with no home outside of the castle in which to live— none that is suitable, anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” Loki said.

Hermione shrugged. “Don’t be, I—it was time for me to move out of there. I was no longer fitting in, not that that I ever truly did.”

“These are my friends, well, the ones that don’t have to hide their friendship with me from their parents,” Hermione said, smiling down at the herd of helpful books and the half-Kneazle that was bringing up the rear by batting at the book spines to keep them moving.

“Why hide a friendship from one’s parents?” Loki asked, utterly baffled. “You are obviously quite intelligent and talented. Your talent is why you are moving now, yes?”

“For a Slytherin, you are strangely oblivious to my Muggleborn status,” Hermione said bitterly. 

Loki looked terribly confused by this, and Hermione tugged on one of the sleeves of his green and black outfit. “The colours gave you away, I’m afraid,” she said with smile. “I’m surprised Draco hasn’t ever mentioned you. Unless you’re one of those shadow-staff father has been telling me about. Helping keep the school running properly but rarely if ever seen?”

Loki just shrugged noncommittally.

“Fine, keep your secrets, mystery man,” Hermione chuckled. 

They reached what seemed to be  a dead-end wall, and Hermione traced a complex pattern on the stone.  The wall shuddered and moved aside, and they continued to walk down a hall. As she reached yet another hall, she smiled as the door was  decorated with a very Mayan feel. The carved feathered serpents guarded her door, curling around it with an almost loving embrace. She placed her hand on the head, and the door opened.

The books bounced in first, followed by Crookshanks. Hermione laughed, and bowed her head. “Please come in. I think the door is temporary so I could get my things in the right wall. Father will have to adjust his wards to allow me in the regular way.”

Loki said nothing for a while. “Where would you like me to put your trunk?”

“Oh,  um, over here I guess,” Hermione said. She looked around. “Wow, this place is dreary. He wasn’t kidding when he said he only had time to  carve out the room and throw in a decent bed.”

Loki looked around. “At least he remembered the bathroom?”

Hermione laughed. “I suppose. I can only imagine the horror of my poor father sharing a bathroom with his grown daughter.”

“Where I come from, family always lives together, even after marriage,” Loki said somewhat wistfully. “Erm, but we  _ do  _ have separate bedchambers,” he said as he saw the horror in her eyes at the implications of family being a little  _ too  _ close.

“You must live in a palace in order to make  _ that  _ work,” Hermione said with a smile.

Loki  gave her an uneasy, lopsided smile.

Hermione enlarged her book shelf and set it near the wall. “Okay, everyone, your shelves are back.”

The books spit out their objects and bounced over to file themselves in order on their respective shelves. Grim and Rith growled and tussled with each other before settling down on “their” piece of shelf.

“I’m really going to have to make another bookshelf,” Hermione said with a wry grin.  

“They don’t get along?”

“Oh, they get along quite well, usually,” Hermione said with a laugh. “Grim and Rith just like to tussle over the best snoozing spots. It’s just—”

Loki arched a brow at her.

“It sounds a little silly, but I think they bite normal books just to make more friends to come home with,”  Hermione speculated.

Loki stared at the sleeping books on the shelf. “Perhaps your escapee friends from the library have chosen to bite normal books so that  _ you  _ have more friends to come home with, my lady.”

Hermione frowned and then shrugged. “You  might be right. And—” Hermione flushed crimson. “It’s Hermione, please. I am no one’s lady.”

“Would you like to be?” Loki asked smoothly, the look in his almost-crystalline eyes causing Hermione to flush a bright shade of Gryffindor. He took her hand and brought it to his mouth, ever so gently pressing his lips to the ridge of her knuckles. “I am Loki. Devote yourself to me, and I swear that I will make you a goddess.”

For a moment, Hermione seemed to consider that. Her hand brushed his, her fingers tenderly moving across his skin as her fingers moved against his as she looked into his face. But then her expression hardened. “Very funny, Mr Loki,” she replied. “But if I am going to bank my dreams on the impossible, I would look for the one who calls out to me there. Where cobalt skin and crimson eyes seem only normal and whose song would but call me from the depths of Creation if only I could hear it.”

Hermione let her hand drop and she busied herself straightening her room. 

“You would reject a suitor for one that has not yet come?” 

Hermione turned, her eyes flashing bright gold for but a moment. “What and who I want does not truly exist. He is but a beautiful dream that my heart makes, based on the innocent whimsy of a child. I will never get to see him because what he is does not truly exist.”

“At least show me that which wins your heart so that no one has even a chance to  _ try _ ?”

Hermione waved her wand as she threw a handful of pristine, shimmering sand in the air, and the particles transfigured into a series of glistening mosaic tiles. They swirled around and positioned themselves around the walls, holding themselves there as cement conjured itself to set them in place. There was a surge of rushing warmth as the picture moved against the wall like the slithering of scales and feathers.

Two great feathered serpents rose up high on the mosaic skies. Heaven lay above, and Earth sat below. One was golden as the sun, her rainbow of feathers that matched every spectrum of the Bifröst. One was a shimmering deep cobalt with crimson ruby eyes— its wings the colour of the moon, glowing with a flawless, blue-white purity. Their necks entwined together, swirling, glowing markings pulsing together in a perfect, matching resonance.

Hermione touched the blue serpent tenderly with her fingers, closing her eyes in pain. “The one I want does not even exist, and I have nothing to blame but a child’s dream that I have not the will to let go of. Save yourself, Mr Loki. The likes of me cannot possibly be anyone’s true desire. Wait but a little time, and you will see the hatred begin to grow within this school again. Jealousy. Misunderstanding.  Cruelty.  You will not wish to be seen with one such as I, but I thank you for the gift of that small moment in which I considered the possibility.”

“I may resemble some of the other witches here,” Hermione said quietly. “I may possess perhaps more than my magic and skill, knowledge and drive, but I will never be one of  _ them _ . I will never truly fit in here. I will never be someone my friends could be proud to bring home to their families. Draco’s parents would  _ die  _ if he so much as touched me in public, and he is one of my oldest and dearest friends.”

Hermione turned to move, but Crookshanks dodged between her legs chasing a book, and she tripped. 

“Ah! Crooks!” she gasped, her arms flailing out to catch herself.

Loki was there in a flash, his arms reaching out to catch her before she could fall. His palm brushed lightly against her cheek, and her eyes fluttered slightly. She leaned into the coolness of his skin, her warmth spreading into his. 

In that moment of skin against skin, they shared the vision of her dream. Scales moved against scales, snout against snout, wing against wing. 

The female sang out a glorious, pure note, and the blue serpent harmonised with her, creating a chord that resonated both in the sky above and the earth below. Their bodies entwined tightly, wings wrapping around the other. Below them lay a nest crafted of the very jungle itself, guarded by the mighty jaguar, the great winged eagle, and the equally great bat.  Two eggs hatched. One was a golden serpent with white, shining wings and crimson eyes. One was a bright blue serpent with golden eyes and wings the colours of the rainbow.

“I’m sorry!” Hermione said, flushing brightly and scrambling out of Loki’s impromptu embrace. “Thank you for helping me with my things,” she said, straightening her robes. 

Loud knocking came from behind the door. “Oi, Mione! We have your stuff.”

Hermione startled, looking around and found only a green-furred book of Norse mythology lying on the carpet. She picked up the wayward book, stroking it with her hand. “Where did  _ you  _ come from, my lovely one? Did Grim or Rith bite you too?”

The book purred and rubbed itself affectionately against her. 

She opened the door. “Keep your trousers on, I’m up to my waist in moving here!”

Ron scoffed loudly, carrying a load of things. Harry trundled in behind him. 

“Professor Dumbledore told us to come help you move your stuff,” Harry said, attempting a smile.

Hermione sighed and gestured to the other crates, trunk, and pile of miscellaneous.  “Thanks.” 

“Figures you’d unpack your books first,” Ron muttered, earning a series of growls from the stuffed bookshelves. 

Hermione’s ever-protective books looked ready to spring at him at any moment, their fangs bared menacingly and their fur bristling.

 

**_RrrrrRRRrrrrrr._ **

As soon as Ron dropped the pile of things he was carrying with a careless thud, the books leapt up and pounced with a loud roar, piling on top of him, pages rustling as they snapped him in the face and every other bit of bare skin they could reach. 

**_“Merlin! Bloody hell!”_ ** Ron screamed shrilly, frantically beating back the books with his arms only to have them slip under his guard to gnaw on his unprotected face.

Hermione and Harry winced together, averting their eyes and ears from the sights and sounds of Ron’s obvious distress.

“Um, er…” Hermione tried to put the green-furred book down on the now-empty shelf, but the book adamantly refused to leave her arms. “Help me set up the desk, Harry?”

“Sure, Hermione,” Harry said, scratching his head. “Er… do you think we should maybe tell someone about this?”

Hermione wore a somewhat conflicted expression. “I’ll,  um, send my Patronus to father.” She waved her wand, summoning her Patronus, and gasped to see that her playful otter had transformed into a lovely winged serpent. It bounced and  gambolled around her and then zoomed off  down the hall.

As Harry and Hermione were arranging the velvet curtains around her bed, Severus swept into the room followed by Minerva.

“What in Merlin’s armpits is  going on in here?” Minerva gasped.

Severus stared down at the pile of obviously-disgruntled books currently burying Ronald Weasley alive and biting any bit of exposed flesh any time he moved. Ronald struggling, breathing in a pathetic, moaning sort of half-strangled wheeze. He tried in vain to get up,  but the books mobbed him again, this time wriggling beneath his now-tattered and torn robes.

Ron’s eyes bugged out and he let out a shockingly girly scream as the pink book of  _ Witches’ Secrets For A Glorious Love Life _ spat out a number of shredded pages as it attempted to shed the bits where it had bitten the wizard. It shook itself, making odd gagging sounds, opened its mouth and wiped the inside of its  pages on the carpet, and then hopped back on the shelf with one last shudder and pitiful bleccching noise.

Harry tried desperately to hold it together, but he ended up roaring with laughter, flopping himself down in the one chair in the room and shaking with mirth like a jellyfish out of water. The books rushed over to cuddle with him, making purring and squeaking noises. Harry gasped as they hit all of his ticklish spots, and he writhed and cried out, giggling helplessly.

Severus promptly pegged the youngest Weasley male with a stunning and levitation spell. “Off to the infirmary with you, Mr Weasley,” he drawled. “You’ll pardon me for not wishing to touch your person at this point, hrm?”

Ron groaned piteously as his robes hung from his body in tatters, and every bit of his exposed skin was now covered in a great many nasty paper cuts as well as dripping with blood and random bits of book paste.

Severus waved his wand, adjusting his wards for Hermione as a new door appeared on her far wall.  “Do try to keep your books away from my ancient Greek Potion Encyclopedias, my daughter?”

“Yes, father,” Hermione said, stifling a giggle.

**_“PuahahahahhAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”_ ** Harry laughed as the books hit him in all his ticklish spots once again for good measure.

Meanwhile the green-furred book began to take on a bluish tint as purred in Hermione’s arms, its carnelian eyes half-closing in pleasure as she rubbed the semsitive  area in between them.

“Finally,” Hermione flopped on her back on the settee.  “Thank  **_Merlin_ ** .”

Grim, Rith, Pitch (the pink Witches’ book someone had bitten and converted to the cause), and her newly acquired and strangely attractive sometimes green, sometimes blue-furred Book of Norse Mythology (which Hermione had just started calling Handsome) all rushed over to cuddle with her. They burrowed under her arms and lay on her stomach, purring madly. Crooks padded over and lay down on top of Rith, who seemed to take it well enough.

Theo handed her a hot cup of tea, and she accepted it gratefully. “So, Dumbledore told the Weasel where to find you?”

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose in clear annoyance. “Yeah.”

Draco shook his head. “Pomfrey had him all bandaged up like a bleeding mummy,” he said with a derisive snort. “She was like, ‘Mister Weasley. How in the world did this happen to you? Why is it always  _ you _ ? And how in Merlin’s name did you manage to get book paste all over yourself as well’?”

“Your father must have loved  _ that _ ,” Theo cackled gleefully.

Draco reached over to take Hermione’s empty cup, and Handsome growled lowly at him, turning a rather dark shade of blue.

Hermione reached over and soothed the area between his eyes, and the book purred, snuggled into her and ceased his verbal assault on Draco.

Draco filled her teacup and shook his head in amusement. “How did you manage to end up with an ever-growing entourage of body-guarding books?”

Hermione just shrugged. “They followed me home?”

“Only you, love,” Theo said, grinning at her. “I always  _ knew  _ I was right about you being a goddess.”

“Oh please, Theo,” Hermione laughed. “I’m just a witch with very… large Animagus form.”

“A  _ mammoth  _ would be a large Animagus form, Hermione,” Theo chided her gently. “A  _ roc  _ would be a large Animagus form. You are are the great goddess Kukulkan, the Plumed Serpent, Quetzalcoatl, and the goddess of the winds and of learning.”

“That’s  a bit long for my dance card, Theo,” Hermione mused aloud.

“Do you know  _ why  _ people always tell you that an Animagus can only be some species of normal, non-magical animal?” Theo asked her. 

“Why, Theo?”

“People let go of their dreams,” Theo said. “It’s like how kids— we do accidental magic that defies any spell we’ll ever manage as adults. It’s like we don’t really have limits as children, but when we go to school we learn what is expected of us.”

Hermione eyed Theo with a blatant “uh huh” expression.”

Theo shook his head. “Think about it, Hermione. Think of what we dream of as kids and what we limit ourselves to now?” 

“We are taught all these boundaries, practically from birth. We are taught how to live and what to hate, but  _ you _ , Hermione.  Somehow, you managed to defy it all.  You made yourself. Freed yourself. You didn't let us tell you two that you couldn't do  _ any _ thing.  You heard the rules, then proceeded to break them all the same. Who is to say that you are the enemy, the poorer, the weaker, the less intelligent or advantaged. My parents have no right to say so. I have no right of it, either. Draco would rather gnaw off his own arm than not call you friend, and the fact that he has to find a way to suck it up and pretend you mean nothing to him nearly kills him every time. Yet, out of here— out there, we have to put on a face because that is what is expected of us. You are truly free, Hermione. You are  _ exactly  _ what you tell people you are.”

“Just forget all the stupidity and hatred,” Draco said firmly, rubbing his head. “Continuing endless generations of hate isn’t right just because no one can remember or cares what the real reason is. My parents would have me believe that you are somehow inferior because you were born to non-magical parents. Well, if what  _ you  _ are is inferior, I’d bloody well take it. When I leave this place, my parents seriously expect me to marry some nice Pureblood girl who curtseys whenever she needs to, speaks up only when there’s no risk of it getting her assassinated, and has her own opinion only when mine doesn’t supercede it. I’d rather be punched repeatedly in the face by  _ you  _ than spend the rest of my life with some spineless Pureblood girl who never dreamed.”

“I don’t know what the hell crawled up Ron’s arse and died,” Harry admitted with a deep sigh. “Ever since we managed to survive our second year, he’s been a right sodding git. Thing is, Ginny, too, has become so incredibly clingy and opinionated. She keeps trying to tell me how and what to think. She drove away Cho. She made Marietta  _ cry _ . I think Cho is a lot happier now that she’s with Cedric. Cedric really treats her well.”

**Ting.** _Ringringringring._ **Thunk.**

Harry looked down and picked up a shiny golden goblet. “Where do you want your goblet, Hermione?”

“That’s not mine,” Hermione said, frowning.

“It’s gorgeous,” Harry said with no little awe. “Must be worth… more than I have in my entire family vault.” He tried to hand it to Hermione, but Rith snatched it up and moved it onto the nearby shelf, nosing it carefully into place before hopping back down and returning to his spot in Hermione’s lap.

The wizards all stared at Hermione.

“What?  **_I_ ** didn’t do it!”

“Great Merlin’s holey socks,” Draco whistled in amazement.

They gathered around. 

From top to bottom, a full section of floor-to-ceiling shelves were full of myriad shiny things. Goblets, jewels, platters, pearls, rings, galleons, pens, stamps, signet rings, shiny wax sticks, ornate ink wells,  tea balls, silverware, crystalware,  chandelier decorations, large and shiny tins of tea, assorted biscuits and candies, antique hair pins, shell buttons, hundreds of little crystal phials of random things, phoenix tail plumes, bracelets, Severus’ missing set of charmed silver knives, Minerva’s favourite teacup (unmistakably emblazoned with Scottish thistles), a shiny tin of lemon sherbets, a fine selection of bejeweled quills, a finely-carved highly-polished, organic-looking wand or three, a collection of small cat bells, a few hundred shiny keys, a crown, a Muggle disco ball, earrings of every shape and size imaginale, multi-coloured jars of unidentified somethings, shiny caps, candlesticks, gemstone throwing dice, a pair of Luna’s gem-encrusted shoes, and so much more.

**_“Dadddddddddddddddddd!”_ ** Hermione cried out,  twirling her hair around her finger rather nervously.

Severus came tearing through the door at top speed as though something was on fire.  **_“Hermione?!”_ **

Hermione pointed at her shelf with a trembling finger Shelves—wall.

Severus’ eyes widened in astonishment. “Something you wish to tell me, daughter mine?”

Hermione sat down, accidentally plopping down on poor Rith, who complained loudly. She meeped in distress, hugging Rith to her. “I didn’t do it, dad, I swear!”

“We were sitting right here the whole time,” Draco agreed, scratching his head in puzzlement.

“That wall was empty just a few minutes ago!” Theo added, still staring.

“There was just that golden goblet and then, suddenly—” Harry said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“And all  **_that_ ** just showed up?” Severus questioned slowly.

The wizards and witch nodded to him.

Severus closed his eyes and w aved his wand. “I need Minerva here. And firewhisky. A lot of firewhisky” He pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Well, I did, um,” Hagrid said, shuffling a bit uneasily, “I might’ve just misplaced a few Nifflers the other week. But they don’t ever give up the treasures they collect—”

“You  **_WHAT?_ ** ” Minerva hissed, her eyes narrowing like an angry cat.

Hagrid tried to sit down, but three irritated books promptly bit him on the arse. He rubbed his offended bum and looked down at the seat. He moved the books over and cautiously sat down, scratching his head. “I had them all locked up in my hut, Perfesser,” Hagrid sputtered. “Someone came and broke the locks clean off.”

“And you neglected to tell anyone about that  **_why_ ** , exactly?”

“I told Perfesser Dumbledore right away, ma’am!”

“And you neglected to tell someone  _ competent _ , why?” Severus muttered half under his breath.

Hagrid squirmed nervously and placed his hands on his lap.

“Merlin’s aftershave,” Theo gasped, pointing at a particular shiny object amongst the rather extensive “hoard.” “That’s a Time-Turner, that is!”

Draco and Harry leaned in to peer curiously at it.

“Don’t touch it!” Minerva admonished. “Gods only know what will happen if it takes you somewhere!”

Draco and Harry immediately put their hands behind their backs. 

Draco gasped. “Bloody hell! That’s my— father’s cane!”

Theo stared. “Your father must be… eating his own hair trying to figure out where that is.”

**Plink.**

**Plink.**

Pearls and galleons tumbled off the shelf, forming quite an impressive pile on the floor.

Hermione gave Handsome, Rith, and Grim a death grip. “What are we going to  **_do?_ ** ”

Severus stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Wait for people to start offering rewards?”

Minerva eyed Severus. 

Severus arched an eyebrow back at her. “You think we could actually trust anyone to take one look at some of this stuff and  _ not  _ claim it was theirs?”

Minerva rubbed her temples.  “We really should inform Alastor,” she said, waving her wand to send her cat Patronus off with the message. “He can… document this so Hermione does not get in trouble for it.”

Draco pointed at his father’s cane. “Can I just say that there should be a good story for my father so he doesn’t completely freak out?”

“Well, if Nifflers are involved, it could certainly explain much,” Minerva said. “No one is immune to thievery courtesy of a truly determined Niffler. Even your father.”

Severus’ floo came to life in the next room. “Severus?”

“Come in, Auror Moody.” 

Alastor stepped out of the floo,  brushing himself off. “Alright, what’s the crisis?”

“This room, Alastor,” Minerva said.

Alastor walked into the room, and his jaw dropped to the  floor. “Alright, so  **_who_ ** am I arresting for this?’

Hermione tried to sink into the floor with a strangled whimper of dismay. 

Small, ninja paws relieved Alastor of his silver flask and it promptly appeared upon the shelf. 

Alastor peered closer upon spotting the flask on the shelf and quickly searched himself for his flask. “What the—”

Alastor, correctly reading the situation, swiftly turned to glare at Hagrid. “Did you have Nifflers?”

Hagrid averted his gaze. “I, uh, erm…”

“Sodding  **_wonderful_ ** ,” Alastor hissed, rolling his good eye in open disgust.

**_Prophet Reporter Rita Skeeter Writes Her Last—_ **

**_From a Ministry Holding Cell_ **

_ Rita Skeeter was apprehended last week after being caught roaming the once-bustling and now empty halls of the Animagus Registry Office at the Ministry of Magic. The Animagus Registry has been unfortunately become a ghost-office thanks to the short-sighted policies of our former Minister for Magic, Cornelius Oswald Fudge, and his chosen Secretary, Madam Dolores Jane Umbridge.  _

_ While Fudge and Umbridge ended up leaving their respective offices in shame, thanks to the discovery of the Dark Lord Voldemort (aka Thomas Marvolo Riddle, Jr) being, in fact, very much alive, they managed to put quite a few shadow policies in before they got the sack. One of these was the “must have valid credentials and demonstrate a powerful show of silent and wandless magic if not a member of a prominent pureblood family” requirement in order to register themselves as an Animagus, even before so much as getting to see the form in question. If said person failed in this, they were promptly reported to the Aurors as unregistered Animagi and thrown in Azkaban without a trial for being identified as “a danger to all members of good magical society”.  _

_ Ever since first taking the oaths of office as our newly-elected Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour has been slowly reviewing and evicting these old shadow policies. However, some of them have not been discovered until, like last week, an innocent finds themselves, through no fault of their own, caught up in the resultant drama. Currently, Minister Scrimgeour is working aggressively with Head Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt to go over many such policies with a fine toothed comb so these policies do not continue to entrap  even more innocent citizens of magical Britain. _

_ In the case described above, Rita Skeeter was caught spying on Master Hermione Granger-Snape while she took and passed the registration test. During a rather strong showing of silent and wandless magic, parts of the Registry’s office were damaged, and Ms Skeeter was injured, causing her to transform out of her unregistered Animagus form: a beetle. _

_ She couldn’t have picked a worse place in which to do so: smack in front of Master Auror Alastor Moody and large group of accompanying Aurors who had rushed down to investigate when the floors started to shake and crumble in the Animagus Registry Office. _

_ The Wizengamot has slated Ms Skeeter to stand trial for multiple charges of illegal use of an unregistered Animagus form for personal gain, including further charges of spying, bribery, corruption, and various other nefarious and venal activities. Skeeter was unanimously voted to be put under Veritaserum, questioned extensively regarding her activities over the past several years. Skeeter is awaiting her trial in a Ministry holding cell and wearing an Animagus ability suppression collar until all evidence is collected, followed, proven, or disproven before her official Wizengamot showing. _

_ Ms Skeeter is currently writing a book entitled, _ The Scandalous Life of Hermione Granger:  Strumpet, Fraud and Muggleborn Hoax, _ which she hopes will  pay for the her barrister representation before the Wizengamot. _

**_Colossal Whatal? Quetzalcoatl?_ **

**_By Xenophilius Lovegood_ **

_ For those of you who haven’t heard the news yet, the British Animagus Registry has celebrated the registration of the first-ever known quetzalcoatl Animagus. While somewhat more common in South America, Britain has yet to have one, and the frequently bandied about “fact” that all Animagi must be some species of non-magical animal has often been challenged by various other Wizarding cultures who have repeatedly tried to refute this all-too-common British misconception.  _

_ The Chinese, for example, have long claimed that the wise-men of the mountain were actually dragon and kirin Animagi, helping guide their people to the path of enlightenment. These wizened wizards and witches were said to be truly immortal, having partaken of cinnabar and immortality— so that they might live as long as their people walk the earth and thus continue guide them through the darkness. _

_ The Native Americans or First Nations often speak of the great and wise Thunderbird, who, like the others, is often spoken both as the creature and the Animagus. The noble creatures protect and guide their chosen people.  There are only two examples stemming from other cultures and other magical societies. Yet, somehow, we who have lived for a very long time in the same place, have managed to forget that magic, like so many things in life, changes and evolves with its people.  _

_ The proof is in meeting Master Hermione Granger-Snape, daughter of Master Severus Snape, the highly-regarded Potions Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. For any of you who have never seen a quetzalcoatl, and there is no shame in having not seen one face-to-face, they are massive feathered serpents that made their home in the jungles of South America. To some cultures, they were revered as nothing less than gods, to others they were guardians of the people. Sometimes they were both. Regardless, all agreed that the quetzalcoatl was a sacred beast.  _

[Photograph of quetzalcoatl with an ecstatic-looking Xenophilius Lovegood]

_ Even if you don’t believe the quetzalcoatl to be immortal gods, you might find yourself deciding otherwise upon meeting her. The photograph does not do her justice.  It is easy to see how they became revered as sacred creatures. Master Granger-Snape is, specifically, what is known as a solar quetzalcoatl. She radiates brilliant light much like the sun, bringing the most blissful of warmth into the very coldest of regions. The oldest legends say there is also a lunar quetzalcoatl,  which embodies the pure, blue-white glow of the moon. Only a solar and lunar quetzalcoatl working together in harmony is thought to guarantee the great blessings of fertile growth and the nurturing effects of the winds and rain. While both are known to be unquestionably beneficial, having only one is a it like experiencing a constant bright day without the peaceful slumber of night. _

_ When we asked Master Granger-Snape if she had any suitors who wished to seek her favour, she replied, “I’m the first one Britain has ever seen.  It would be awful miraculous if another showed up  so soon.” _

_ “Are you entertaining any non-Animagi suitors?” _

_ “No,” Granger-Snape replied firmly.  “I have more than enough on my plate right now.” _

_ After hearing the news, there are some who are very eager to pay their respects to the first quetzalcoatl in Britain. The goblin nation has already pledged to send a delegation of representatives with “appropriate offerings of our respect.” The centaurs from various herds have already sent diplomats of their own, and a number of foreign ministries have been negotiating to make an appointment for a chance to visit her as well. _

_ As to certain rumours that the Board of Governors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has attempted to evict Master Granger-Snape from the grounds of Hogwarts due to her not being a member of staff at the school, the Board has adamantly denied any and all such allegations. As to whether this happened because of all the positive press and visitations brought on by the resident  quetzalcoatl or if they truly made the decision regardless remains ambiguous. _

_ The goblin nation has made it abundantly clear that if Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft And Wizardry finds itself unable to justify Master Granger-Snape’s continued presence in their school, that they are more than willing to provide ample lodging as well as work with her to pursue any career she so chooses. As of this publishing, official word from Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore regarding Master Granger-Snape’s status has not been received. _

Hermione shook her head in weary resignation as the wizards and witches in the line all gave her dirty looks as she walked by them, seeming, to their minds, to be skipping the line. It was privately amusing to her that, despite her name being fairly well-known now, very few people actually knew her on  _ sight _ . She found she much preferred it that way.

Handsome, Grim, and Rith growled menacingly at any people who foolishly came too close to “their” witch, and Hermione chuckled as she gently soothed them with her touch. They nibbled her hand and purred, always happy to receive rewards for defending her from imbeciles, ignoramuses, and miscellaneous unwelcome intruders. 

Hermione bared her teeth at the goblin  at the desk, making her very best grimace of proper respect. The elder goblin grimaced back— looking as if he was going to eat her alive, but he opened the inner gate for her so she could pass through.  The people in the lines gaped— always dumbfounded that a human was permitted to “go back with the goblins.” It had taken a few hundred practices of the proper grimace to not be insulting— just enough teeth, not enough gums, a bit of nose wrinkle. It was hard without the pointed ears to move and sharp fangs to bare— but she made do. They tolerated her fumbling because she  _ was  _ trying her best— and they knew exactly what she really was. 

She’d made a few friends out of the goblin logbooks entirely by accident. A goblin had a startled Rith and Rith had promptly taken a bite out of the goblin’s logbook that he had held protectively between himself and Rith’s toothy wrath. So now, every single time she came in, the logbooks had to rush up and greet her, begging for pets and cuddles before she sent them back to their deeply amused goblin owners. 

She walked the corridor to the ledge that took most of the goblins by rail to various parts of the bank. “Okay, guys, hop in,” she said, opening up her beaded bag. Her books obediently hopped into the bag, and she tied it to her belt.  Closing her eyes, she let herself fall off the edge into the howling winds.

**Whooom…**

**WHOOOOM!!!**

Her wings beat strongly to carry her deep into the goblin stronghold. Even with her size, her wings barely spanned the gaps. She soared deeper, shining her radiance through the dark of the caverns. Goblins waved as she passed, and she sang to them as she flew by. The sound of her clarion call vibrated across the caverns, echoing back to her. She circled the lush jungle habitat where a giant pyramid rose and the enchanted cavern ceiling showed the skies and weather from the outside world. She landed, lovingly entwining around the pyramid, rubbing her face against the sides in a few places before transforming back into her human form to enter what had become her home. 

She loosed the books so they could mingle with their  compatriots— thankfully most of them were perfectly okay with guarding the home instead of following her everywhere. Crookshanks meowed a greeting to her as she came in, and she  picked him up and hugged him, lavishing him with pets and cuddles until he squirmed and wanted down. 

Hogwarts had finally kicked her out the gates thanks to the Board of Governors holding some sort of vote. Without her having student status or holding a job there, she was not allowed to stay, or so they informed her anyway. So the goblins had then gleefully invited her to make her home with them, gladly taking on the organising of any visitors she might or might not find waiting for her. She had a feeling it was because  the Board hadn’t actually seen her transform until the very day she had left. 

Her father and Minerva had told her to make her exit look “better than good,” and so she had. She transformed directly in front of the scrambling Board, launched herself into the air, and rattled the very walls of the school with her triumphant roar. From what Severus had taken great pleasure in describing to her after she had moved into Gringott’s, a few of them had actually piddled themselves, others had started singing devout praises, and Lucius Abraxas Malfoy himself had turned pale as milk.  Well, pal _ er _ .

The centaurs were threatening to break the peace treaty after finding out the Board had  _ dared  _ to kick her out— something the school could not afford at all. Funding was being pulled in all directions from benefactors who had supported the school with a resident quetzalcoatl. There was chaos brewing in the streets, and now a lot of that funding and backing was going to: the goblins instead.

The goblins, of course, were nigh ecstatic with that particular development.

Record numbers of people were coming in to open new accounts with Gringott’s London specifically because no one in their right mind was going to rob a bank where a bloody quetzalcoatl lived. Not unless they had a death wish, at any rate. The goblins had made her a sort of mini-jungle in the furthest depths of their underground fortress, and the “temple” that was her home was accessible in only three ways: flight, goblin tram, and via floo, if only directly from Severus’ personal floo at Hogwarts— the man who made the security wards on the bank look small,  paltry, and haphazardly constructed by a band of drunken monkeys.

Severus had his own private home with her, and there was plenty of room to spare considering she had an entire temple to herself, and the two of them were slowly picking away at Minerva to have her retire from Hogwarts too after she  became “fed up ta t’e neck” with what Hogwarts’ Board of Governors had forced them to do. Even with Severus there in his own ample living and brewing space, and Minerva with  _ her  _ own space, there was still more than enough room open to whatever uses she so chose.  Hermione had her suspicions her temple was a lot like Hogwarts itself. It made room as she needed it, and the inside was far, far bigger than it appeared on the outside. Whatever the reason, she had room literally for  _ miles _ . 

She picked up the scroll that had been set on the desk by the Gringott’s owls. She sat down on the settee and put her feet up to read it, and the books  immediately came rushing up to cuddle with her. She absently pet them, smiling as Handsome snuggled up to her face. She’d become quite attached to the sometimes green, sometimes blue-furred book. She’d listen to him softly breathe in her ear, and marvel that such a wondrous thing was even possible. As amazing as magic was, it still had the capacity to surprise her.

_ Dear Hermione, _

_ Father is right ready to kick me out of the family for not telling him about you, but Mum keeps telling him I  _ did  _ try to tell him about you ages ago and reminded him that he repeatedly insisted to us both that quetzalcoatls most emphatically did  _ not  _ exist. _

_ So, now that the school is currently under fire from multiple foreign nations as well as hundreds of angry parents who will not get the opportunity to chance upon you at the annual parent-teacher meet and greet night, well, let’s just say I don’t even have to do anything to watch my father eat his cravat. _

_ He’s still convinced that your father is the one that stole his walking cane and vials of Re’em blood. He doesn’t even care that it was Moody himself who actually confiscated them.  _

_ Do you know what he wants me to do now? _

_ Seduce you.  _

_ Seriously. _

_ Stop laughing, Hermione. _

_ You’re  _ still  _ laughing, aren’t you? Theo told me I need to inform my father (in the sweetest way possible) that I am not a male prostitute that he can pimp out as his whim suits him. I think about spit my tea all over him. Wait. I  _ did  _ spit my tea over him. _

_ I did tell him that I am formally and magically engaged to Astoria Greengrass thanks to HIM, so unless he desires to nullify that contract, which is unbreakable, mind you, and then explain to her parents why the entire affair was a big old misunderstanding, I’m sure as hell not going to risk  killing myself by cheating on her with someone he was so eager to call a foul Mudblood but a mere month ago. _

_ I swear to you, Hermione, if  Uncle Severus wasn’t around to stop me, I would’ve surely ended up murdering my own father by now. Well, maybe not actually murdered him so much as I would’ve accidentally  thrown him into the portrait of perpetual solitude that he used to throw me into whenever I dared mouth off at him. _

_ Totally accidentally. _

_ I might, you know, go on the town with Theo for my bachelor’s night out and get totally knackered and get my brain Obliviated about that too. Oops. So sorry, father. Not. _

_ No, sir, hic. I honestly have no idea whatsoever where my father might’ve stashed himself away. _

_ Moody would certainly not believe me, but he wouldn’t exactly tattle on me either. _

_ Harry told me to tell you that he’s not using any of his supposed clout as the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ to help out Hogwarts after what they did, so you can rest assured that if someone pulls for Hogwarts after this, it is not because of any of us.  _

_ Oh, and to answer your question about your mysterious Slytherin guy. No idea. Theo and I haven’t seen anyone of that description either before or after  graduation. _

_ By the way, don’t listen to that stupid drivel those idiots write about you being some attention mongering whore. Just because Ronald Farking Weaselarse decides you’re like the brainless twits he humps  in random broom closets does not mean YOU are like those girls he grinds his pitiful inadequacy into.  He may choose to rut with anything that has a pulse, but that is not your problem. His problem, his STDs. As for the Weaselette, well, after she utterly lost it with Luna in front of the entire school, no one is sure what to make of the little bint. She may call you a lot of horrible things out of pure jealousy, Hermione, but even the truly batshite crazy ones don’t listen to her twaddle anymore. She actually caught one of the books that Pince chained down in the library so it couldn’t follow you. You know, that cute little purple book with the white spots? She tore out all of it’s pages, thoroughly kicked the shite out of it and then dumped it in Black Lake.  _

_ Poor thing gave up the ghost. We tried to sew it back together, put the pages back in, do all the repairing spells we knew.  It was like it just didn’t want to live anymore. It just… died. I don’t know how else to explain it. I didn’t actually see it happen, I only came to the aftermath, but Astoria told me everything she’d seen.  _

_ Astoria thinks that Ginevra has some sort of displaced rage, but we have no idea why. I mean, you used to help her with her homework all the time, right? Why would she ever be mad at you? Maybe she has something going on at home. I don’t know what that thing would be, as  the Weasels don’t talk to Malfoys. Ever.  All I can guess is that it involves the Weasel himself in some way. How? No idea. Even Harry is all scratching his head and shaking it at the same time. _

_ Harry passed his Auror test and is training, but Ronald never managed to get past the initial test.  He’s working at his twin brothers’ place, uh— Blizzarding Bleezes or something? Breezes? Sneezes? Hell, I don’t know. It’s not like I’d ever bother to go there. _

_ Anyway, take care of yourself Hermione. Send us a Patronus if you have a free night and want to do something. Theo wants to go watch Muggle sci-fi and fantasy movies at Grimmauld again. Sirius is on a major Lord of the Rings kick right now. I can’t believe he’s actually nicking electric from his own neighbours. What an arse!  _

_ Look, don’t freak out, okay? The parcel I sent with this is the remains of the purple book with the white spots. I— I figured you’d want to, you know… Aw fuck, I’m horrible at this. Just, don’t murder the Weaselette, okay? She’s so not worth it. Let Madam Pince figure out it was her that destroyed one of her books and she can murder her for you, okay? Probably more excitement than that weird woman has had in centuries. _

_ Love (and NOT the kind my father wants), _

_ Draco _

_ Stop laughing, Hermione. I mean it. I’ll— I'll think of something. _

Hermione sniffed, sat up and summoned the carefully wrapped parcel that had been tucked underneath the scroll. She tugged on the twine and took a deep breath. The other books came shuffling up, nudging her hands, and she stroked them for comfort before she lifted off the lid.

There, wrapped in soft white tissue, lay the tattered remains of  _ Grey Magick: Will Made Form. _ She lifted the book out of the box and set it down in her lap, tenderly stroking its torn cover. “You were such a good little book,” Hermione whispered. She touched the soft purple fur and played with the tiny white spots with her fingers. “Madam Pince always hated how you wanted to follow me out every single time I visited the library.” 

Rith and Grim sadly nudged the little book with their covers. They looked to the book and then up at Hermione, confused and disheartened. Rith bit the book on the spine, but nothing happened. Handsome wriggled under her hand and she touched him as her shoulders slumped, her heart breaking.  She lay her head down on the little book’s remains, tears streaming down her face and into the poor book’s purple and white fur. Hermione cried softly, pulling her cooing books to her as the painful sobs tore through her.

Handsome snuggled to her closely, and she smiled sadly at the quirky but loyal book. She pressed a tender kiss to his cover, wiped her face and picked up _ Grey Magick: Will Made Form _ .  “I’m really going to miss you,”  she said softly, petting the book with her tear-soaked hand.  She lifted it up and placed it back in the box.

She sat down on the floor and stared up at the ceiling. Vainly trying to collect her thoughts.

**Rustle.**

**Rustle.**

**Nudge.**

Hermione blinked. Handsome was tugging insistently at her sleeve. Rith and Grim were bouncing up and down on the settee excitedly.

She cuddled Handsome to her and moved to pick up Rith and Grim when, suddenly, she saw it.

**Rustle.**

**Rustle.**

**Rustlerustle.**

There was a soft purple glow coming from the box,  and she bit her lip as she cautiously lifted the tissue up.

Suddenly, the purple book jumped up out of the tissue, her fanged maw open and eyes looking about brightly. It— she—  **_purrpurrpurrrrred_ ** and hopped into a startled Hermione’s arms.

Hermione promptly burst into tears, cuddling Handsome and the purple book tightly. “Oh,” she whispered tearfully. “Hello.”

**_PurrrrPUrrrpPURRRRRRR._ **

Rith and Grim pounced on the little purple book, and she squealed, nipping at them playfully. They leapt out of her arms and chased each other around the room before hopping onto the bookshelf and nestling up together. Only Handsome remained snuggled up in her arms,  looking up at her with— 

Hermione stroked Handsome on the head. She could have  _ sworn  _ she saw…  but her emotions were surely getting the better of her.

Handsome was now a beautiful cobalt blue with startling carnelian eyes. 

“ _ Loki _ ?” she whispered.

“Okay, now I’m definitely losing it. I need to shower and drink something really strong,” Hermione said, putting Handsome down on the settee. Hermione rubbed her temples and sighed. “You  _ know  _ you’re losing it when you start thinking that your strangely intelligent book is— fond of you. Stop it, Hermione.” She stormed out of the room towards the shower.

Handsome bounced off the settee and headed toward the shower. As he bounced through the door, Hermione stared down at him. “Oh no, this is no place for a book, mister!” she used her toe to move him out of the  room and close the door.

**Whine.**

**Scratch.**

**Scratch.**

Hermione opened the door, and Handsome tried to plow his way in.

She snatched him up, her towel falling down to the ground. She walked out, placed Handsome on the desk, thought about it, and shoved Handsome in a drawer and closed it, rushing off to the bathroom and closing the door behind her.

**Bump.**

**Bump.**

**BUMP.**

**Thunk!**

Handsome pushed out the drawer and hopped out of the desk. He glared at the drawer and began to hop back towards the bathroom. He stared up at the doorknob, looked one direction then the other.  He stood up in his un-bookian form, his hand moving to open the offending door.

He stopped, closing his eyes.

With a heavy sigh, he walked back to the other room and sat down on the couch, deciding that he needed to be honest with her. He could hear her calling him so clearly, deep within his soul. Her touch was electric.  Her light begged him to come and warm himself by her inner fire. He—

Loki shuddered, putting his head in his hands.

She  _ didn’t  _ want him. She  _ wouldn’t  _ want him. He  _ wasn’t  _ the beautiful blue serpent of her dreams. But he desperately  _ wanted  _ to be. He hadn’t wanted anything more in his life because she—

She gave him…  peace.

When she touched him, all the rage, the frustration, the anger— it all went away. For the first time since he had starting having the anger problems, he truly felt normal again. 

He had to tell her. He had to make her understand how special she was. He wanted to touch her, hold her. He wanted to be tender with her, protect her, and he was almost mad with hunger for just that little brush of her hand against his skin. 

He was no Thor in the relationship department.  While his brother bedded ladies  from one side of the keg to the next, he did not. He had relationships here and there, but all of them were empty and almost mechanical. He could go through the motions, even please the  female, but it was all a big experiment more than a connection. That was what he wanted. He wanted a connection, and not just the  lovey drivel that they whispered to you after he gave them pleasure.

Then, the anger issues had started, and all his prospective interests soon faded into the woodwork. None of them had ever stayed long enough to ask him how  _ he  _ felt. How was  _ he  _ doing? Asgardians, as advanced as they were, had so many social rules. What you did behind closed doors, that was pretty much off the record, but in front of his mother or the All-Father he was expected to always be very proper and reserved in his behaviour. In front of the people, he was expected to be controlled. Hell, even Thor had issues in that area, but not nearly as much as he had.

No, Loki had always had far more issues connecting to what made an Asgardian an Asgardian. Thor and the Warriors Three and Sif, they had all laughed and played together. They battled together. They even experimented with relationships together, but Loki was always the odd one out. And Loki never truly understood why.

No, he decided. He would sit here and wait for her to finish her shower and he would tell her the truth. Surely she would at least give him a chance to at least prove to himself it was hopeless before giving it up?

Loki sat on the couch and  folded his hands in his lap. He would wait. Just as long as it took.

Hermione walked out of the shower wearing her duckling-covered nightshirt.. It had been a gag gift from Draco, but she liked it because it was warm and fluffy. She checked the door as she opened it, surprised that Handsome wasn’t there, disgruntled and impatiently waiting for her, like the overprotective ninja book that he was. 

She brushed out her long, curly hair and went to turn off the lights in the living room when—

Hermione’s breath hitched and caught in her throat. There, lying asleep on  her couch was an incredibly beautiful man. His skin was a very familiar shade of deep cobalt with raised, swirling marks spread almost decoratively across his flawless blue skin.  He had long, curling hair the colour of midnight.

_ “Loki,”  _ she whispered. 

And she  _ knew _ . It was him all along.

Her dutiful, mood ring of a colour-changing book on Norse mythology.

Merlin, she had  _ slept  _ with him in her arms. Then Hermione flushed crimson from her head to her toes. She had held him to her  _ naked  _ body!

But that colour— were his eyes the colour of rubies? Could it even be possible? Was he— 

She knelt by the couch, her hand covering his.  Her thumb rubbed gently against his markings, both curious and tender. 

Loki’s eyes shot open, and she gasped aloud in pure wonder.

Deep ruby-red eyes stared into hers. She slowly, tenderly reached up to touch his face. Her palm cupped his cheek, and he leaned into it instinctively to make that all-important contact.  A jolt of pure warmth and intense pleasure seemed to surge through every single nerve ending he possessed. 

“Why didn’t you just  _ tell  _ me?” Hermione asked quietly.

He looked into her face, searching for any sign of anger, pain, or the sudden overwhelming desire to fling a table at him as Sif surely would have done, but there was nothing there other than warmth and simple curiosity. 

“I did not not have words to describe what I feel for you.” Loki winced in remembered pain.  “You had already told me that you were not interested.”

“I told you of my dream,” Hermione said. “You saw it for yourself. How did you not make the connection then and tell me?”

“There was no connection I could see to make,” Loki explained. “I have— wanted to tell you for weeks now. I hear your song in my heart. I cannot explain it. I so desperately want to be the blue serpent in your dream if you would but give me a chance to prove it.” 

Hermione’s brow crinkled in confusion. “Loki, you could have just showed me this. I look into your marvelous ruby eyes and I see _ him _ — my serpent.”

Loki frowned. “I do not understand.”

“You even have the markings,” Hermione said, placing his own hand to her cheek as she pressed herself into it. Her hand caressed his skin, and he almost fell over to feel the sweet, exquisite intensity of her touch. “They are just like mine.”

Loki froze in shock as he saw his hand clasped in hers. Her lightly tanned skin against his… very blue skin. “No,” he groaned in absolute misery. He pulled his hand away, clasping it in his other hand as if scalded.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked, hurt in her voice. 

Loki frantically clawed into his palms with his fingernails, soon drawing blood. “I’m— I’m a Jötunn. I’m a  _ monster _ . I—”

Hermione’s hands covered his and Loki’s breath caught in his throat. “You’re no more a monster than I am,” she assured him, grasping his trembling hands in hers. 

“They’re the enemy! They’re— I’m— I’ll  kill everything beautiful in the world!”

Hermione’s face grew hard. “Now you listen to me, Loki. You are only what you make yourself to be. I was told from the very first day I came to school that I was less than the others, a foul creature unworthy of  breathing the same air as they, much less have the right to wield magic. According to them, I should’ve been drowned at birth. I was just a Mudblood, no more worthy of merit than a glob of shite under your boot. I was told my magic wasn’t  _ real _ . I  was told I wasn’t as good as everyone else because my parents weren’t magical like theirs. How could I  _ ever  _ be worth anything?“

Hermione’s eyes flashed bright gold and her lips pursed into a thin line. “You’ve watched over me ever since we first met in the library, and while you pranked the entire school, you never once actually hurt anyone. You even made the Headmaster look better for a day, no small accomplishment in itself. That was you, Loki. I see it now, so very clearly. I don’t know  _ why  _ I didn’t before. Why I didn’t remember you before. I do now.  I remember  _ you _ . You are not a monster.”

Suddenly, Hermione grew cold, her nerveless hands falling away. “Do you think  _ me  _ a monster?”

**_“NO!”_ ** Loki yelled. “No,” he repeated far more quietly. “You are not a monster, Hermione. You are a  _ goddess.” _

“Do you think me a fool?”

**_“NO!”_ **

“A horrible judge of character, perhaps?”

“No,” Loki answered quietly, almost abashedly.

Hermione closed her eyes.  “I need your permission, Loki.”

Loki blinked in confusion. “For what?”

“To show you what it is that  **_I_ ** see in you.”

Loki fidgeted nervously, his eyes skittish and wild. “Okay.”

Hermione took his hand, her palms brushed up his arms, gliding across his markings. She dragged her palms along his skin to to his neck, his ear, and his cheek. She tugged his head down and tenderly placed her mouth against his.

Heat rose up between them instantly, and Loki groaned as electricity seemed to arc into him from her very core into his. own His breath caught— his heart stopped. His mind screeched to a shuddering halt. 

And suddenly he had her on her back, plastered against the cushions of the couch as his tongue eagerly explored her mouth, a low groan of sheer want rising up from deep within. He stared down at her, crimson eyes blazing, and Hermione’s eyes bled to gold. 

“ _ Loki _ ,” she whispered.

Her hands slid against his arms. “I would really, really, like this armour off of you, and I don’t  think I have sufficient brain power to work complex locking mechanisms at the moment.”

Loki shuddered from her touch, his breathing growing heavy. He looked up at her painfully, almost fearfully, but he ran his finger down his back in a strangely graceful movement and the metal, leather, and fabric fell away.

“I—” Hermione gasped as she took in the sight of his lean, yet muscular body. “Yes, please.”

She swallowed hard, struggling to sit up enough to pull her nightgown off, and he held her back, his mouth seeking her neck as he peeled her gown from her body. He stopped only long enough to pull it off her arms and then he was affixed to her. His strong hands roamed her body, touching, exploring, needing to feel every bit of her even as his tongue slithered against hers to make up their own serpentine dance.

Her hands roamed his chest, sides, and back. She followed along his markings and he could see them perfectly as they came to glorious life in his head and over his sensitised skin. She panted against his skin, and the sensation and sound sent thrills of excitement through his body.  His lower body jerked sharply, and he felt his readiness surge to life unlike anything he’d ever had before. He hesitated— suddenly unsure, doubting.

Hermione’s hand curled around his shaft and Loki’s eyes rolled back in his head at the sheer exquisite agony of it. She shifted her position slightly, moving him precisely where she wanted him, and she wiggled just enough to moisten his entry with a little help. Loki groaned, gasped, and thrust, unable to resist the instinctual need to move. 

Hermione cried out, clawing at his  back, but her legs wrapped around him locking him into the commitment. But Loki definitely wasn’t trying to leave. He growled deep in the back of his throat, his thumbs playing with her nipples even as he lowered his mouth to hers and thrust strongly at the same time.

Hermione screamed, but it was not borne of pain, fear or rejection.  **_“Loki!”_ **

His name jolted through him, and his eyes glowed brightly, and he thrust again, the two of them quickly finding their rhythm together until they became as one, moving toward that beckoning, shining bliss that was waiting for them just a little further on the horizon. 

She panted, crying, squirming restlessly against him, clutching his body to hers as she shuddered against his body. 

**_“Hermione!”_ ** Loki cried out, feeling himself teetering right on the edge.

Her body slammed tightly around him, holding him like a velvet vise. Loki  cried out at the very height of bliss.  _ “My goddess,” _ he gasped, thrusting one last time as he lost everything in a series of overwhelming convulsions as she kept him sheathed within her, drinking in everything that he had to give. He arched his neck, shuddering in the most sublime ecstasy, and clamped his teeth on the skin of her neck, and Hermione screamed out her ecstasy in response. Her body shuddered as Loki’s markings glowed an intense, brilliant blue-white as the markings of her serpent form manifested on her body to become a twin of his own. They glowed together, sun and moon, filling the room with a powerful, unearthly radiance. 

**_“Hnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn,”_ ** Hermione’s song erupted from her human throat and her body thrashed, convulsing, shifting, changing. She wrapped her coils around him as she threw herself out of the way before her body became too big, dragging Loki along with her. 

Feathers and scales erupted from her skin as her body elongated, thrashed, and changed in a fluid wave, wings spreading as her sunlike radiance blazed over the miniature jungle. Loki’s body grew very warm— warmer than warm. His body arched and thrashed, and he convulsed as his arms twisted backwards into naked wings just before even more heat burst from his skin and rose up from the shafts, filling out into ethereal white feathers that glowed like the moon. Blue, shimmering scales sprouted down his back and his belly even as feathers sprouted around his head like a mane and out of his tail, that had just finally finished filling out.

**_“Hnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn,_ ** ” Hermione sang again.

**_“Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnhhh,”_ ** Loki sang along with her, their voices ringing out together in perfect harmony and blissful completion.

**_VvvVVVVvvVOOOOOOOOOOM!_ **

Power blasted outwards from their bodies as they sang, and they twisted around each other, scale against scale, marking against marking, feathers against feathers, entwining their bodies together as they  curled around the temple in a loving, serpentine embrace.

Hermione rubbed her head against Loki’s, her golden tongue flicking against his cobalt scales. Loki nuzzled her back as his coils tightened around hers. He let out a contented sigh.

Peace at last.

 


	2. Quetzalcoatl What?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Every fic I write seems to include a little crack. Sorry. Not sorry. I had to manually insert the HR thanks to trying to publish via tablet via android. (I could not copy paste in Android.) This is proof that full computers still have more love.
> 
> [Summary]: [Hermione/Loki] Loki has been kicked out of Ásgarðr for bad behaviour. Odin thinks his frost giant heritage is to blame. But is it really? [AU/NC/EWE] (Not even trying for canon, sorry!)
> 
> Beta Love: The Dragon and the Loki (cough, I mean Rose), Dutchgirl01, and the Flyby Commander Shepard
> 
> Warnings: M for delicate sensibilities
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't don't own the characters. I just play in the sandbox.

**Mischief Managed**

**Chapter 2: Quetzalcoatl What?**

_The most important thing is this: to be ready at any moment to sacrifice what you are for what you could become. - Charles Dickens_

Hermione opened her eyes to find Rith and Grim snuggled up to her face— and the smaller purple book with white spots gave her her a tender lick on the nose.

"Someone needs a name," Hermione mumbled.

_**PurrrRRrrRRRRRR.** _

"I'm pants at names," Hermione told the little book as she snuggled her bookish pileup.

"Violet," a deep, sleepy voice rumbled against her body as an arm snaked around her waist and pulled her close.

The little book bounced up and down happily, gave Loki a lick, and then bounced away with Rith and Grim as they chased each other around the bedroom to somewhere else in the temple.

"Wonderful, I have book paste on my face," Loki murmured into her skin. He rubbed his face against her back.

Hermione mumbled. "Now I have book paste on my back."

"That's not the only thing you have on your back," Loki purred, his body pressing against hers as his mouth deftly attached itself to her neck like a hungry lamprey.

Hermione spasmed, a surge of pure pleasure going from the mark of his teeth down to her toes. _**"Nnnnggaah!"**_ she gasped.

Deft blue hands roamed across her body under the duvet, and Hermione let out a soft whimper that caused him to tighten around her. He snuffled her hair, taking in the delicious scent of her skin under her hair.

"You have feathers in your mane," Loki whispered in her ear.

" _Wha?_ " Startled, Hermione reached up to feel her hair. Sure enough, her hair had been infested with brilliantly-coloured feathers.

"You're so beautiful," Loki murmured softly as he sat up.

Hermione's expression softened and she touched his cheek. "You're still my Handsome, quirky, colour-changing book."

Loki purred, wrapping his arms around her as the duvet fell away.

"Eeagh! Cold!" Hermione shivered as the draft caught her skin. She froze as the scent of cooking eggs and sausage wafted in from somewhere in the temple. "Oh _**Merlin!**_ " She flung herself out of bed, diving into the bathroom as she threw Loki his shirt, pants, trousers, and bits of armour. "Dad is home!"

Loki had the wherewithal to blush a deep shade of purple as he magicked the clothes back onto himself.

**Pop!**

Handsome quickly hid under the duvet, pulling the end of the covers up and over himself.

* * *

Handsome peered around the door as Hermione glided out to meet her father. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her head to his shoulder. "Good morning, father."

"Good morning, daughter," Severus greeted, brandishing his cooking flipper. "I wasn't sure what a proper post-magical mating-marriage bond breakfast was supposed to be, so I decided I'd start with eggs and sausage, potatoes, and orange juice."

Hermione stared at him.

"Old," Severus said pointedly. " _ **Not**_ an imbecile."

Handsome rustle-bounced to hide among the other books on the shelf.

"So, do I get to meet your mysterious moon-lover, or do I have to tell everyone my daughter married a part of her library?"

Hermione coughed as she drank her juice. "I think he's, um… a little shy."

"Not from the stories I heard last night, my dear daughter," Severus quipped, handing her a plate of fry up with an amusedly arched brow. "The goblins are more than excited about the development. Already taking bets on how many eggs and what colours the babies will be."

Hermione choked on her juice and slammed her fist into her sternum. _**"What?"**_

"Unless you would like your eggs scrambled, I would prefer if you at least told me how you liked your eggs," Severus said toward the bookshelf. "Or I could feed Grim and Rith your breakfast. I'm sure they wouldn't mind that at all."

Upon hearing their names, the two books bounced off the shelf, promptly dislodging Handsome. Violet bounced off Handsome's cover and followed Grim and Rith as they bounced up to seek attention from Severus.

"Hey, hey, now," Severus chided the books. "Where are your manners, you lot?"

The books whined, and sat on their spines, looking hopefully up at him.

Severus eyed them, but they didn't move, just watched him intently.

Finally, he tossed three sausages in the air.

**SNAP!**

_**Boing-** _ **SNAP!**

**Chomp!**

The books rubbed up against Severus' ankle and bounced off to another part of the temple.

"Books that eat sausages," Severus said with a sigh. "Normality just took a screaming detour straight down into the utterly bizarre. By the way, Minerva sent you a chocolate bar, but I think one of your Nifflers stole it."

"They aren't _my_ Nifflers!" Hermione protested.

"Well they definitely aren't listening to anyone _BUT_ you, daughter," Severus said with a snort. "Besides, they adore using your hair as a launching pad for their ninja skills. The new feathers really suit you, by the way."

"Wh— oh." Hermione touched her feathered hair. "Apparently, they just showed up this morning.

A Niffler tore across the floor, closely followed by a determined Violet in hot pursuit. The chased Niffler finally dropped the candy bar it was holding, and Violet snatched it up, bounced over to Hermione, and lay the offering at her feet. Violet purred, rubbing up against her leg, and shuffled off again.

Hermione picked up the abused chocolate bar. "Found it," she said sheepishly.

"So, do I get to blame your suitor for everything or just the Nifflers?"

Hermione flushed. "Not _everything_ ," she protested feebly.

"So just the Nifflers then?"

Loki stood in Handsome's place, rubbing his disheveled hair somewhat nervously. "That may have been me."

"Ah, so he finally speaks. Good to know you are not some myth or a mere hallucination," Severus said, shoving a steaming plate into his hands. "You get scrambled because you took too long."

Loki smiled a little sheepishly. "Thank you." He sat down at the table and looked for a fork. A tiny book bounced up and down, a fork clenched between its pages. It had a suspiciously familiar coat of bright purple fur, but golden spots, which were, interestingly, in Rith's colour. He accepted the fork. "Thank you, little one."

_**PurrRRrRrrrr!** _

The tiny book bounced off the table and landed on the floor with a rather adorable squeak and then bounced off towards the bookshelf.

"Father?"

"Yes, daughter?"

"Can magically animated, sentient books… breed?"

Severus' eyes bored into Loki. "Can I blame him for that too?"

Loki attempted to become one with the temple floor, with rather limited success.

* * *

Harry was buried alive in tiny fuzzy booklets.

_**PurrrRRRRrrRRrrrr.** _

Crookshanks was sleeping on top of the pile, his tail lazily twitching in feline amusement.

Theo tickled one of the fuzzy booklets and it gummed his fingertips and drooled book paste on him. "I _totally_ want one of my own."

The booklets perked— all the colours of the rainbow— staring up at him hopefully, as if waiting for him to take his pick.

"Now you've gone and done it," Draco said, grinning from ear-to-ear.

Violet, Rith, and Grim were looking mightily satisfied over on the bookshelf.

"Um, so, did your books just attack a cart full of notebooks or did they actually find a way to—" Draco rubbed a booklet on the chin and it drooled and licked him happily. "Aww," he cooed and cuddled it to himself.

Hermione gave her books a sidelong glance.

"I think the miracles of the modern age should remain mysteries," Hermione mused.

Theo now had an entire line of books encroaching on his personal space.

"Better choose soon, Theo," Draco advised, smirking. "You'll end up like poor Harry over there.

Harry twisted his hand in mid-air (the only part of him still visible under the virtual dogpile of cooing, snuggling books) to favour Draco with the two finger salute.

"Harry, are you okay?" Hermione asked, giggling helplessly at the strangely adorable sight.

"Yeah, and I'm definitely not cold anymore," Harry said a bit sheepishly. "I'm just trying to figure out why the books seemed to hate Ron and Ginny so much. They seem like really happy furry critters to me. Soothing, even. Like those tribble things on that sci-fi TV show? Sirius made us watch the whole series— Star Trek?"

The books cooed pleasantly.

Hermione patted a few of the books affectionately on the cover. "Not bibliophiles, I guess."

A door creaking open caused the trio to look up, and Severus swept in, his black robes blotting out the light from the outside as surely as it did in the classroom.

"Merlin, I'm having flashbacks to my classroom. Is Mr Longbottom hiding somewhere ready to blow up a cauldron in some utterly random act of wanton stupidity?"

"Father, that's not nice."

"I'm _not_ nice, I'll have you remember, daughter."

"Ffft."

"Language, daughter."

Hermione crossed her arms and pouted slightly. "Yes, father."

"Hnn," Severus said crossing the room. Hermione got up and wrapped her arms around him in a hug, and the annoyed expression on her father's face softened as he embraced her.

Loki moved in quietly behind like the shadow of a shadow, suddenly appearing beside Hermione as he slid by her. The boys, almost hypnotised, couldn't help but feel their breath catching in their throats as he did so. Like a ritual dance, he brushed up against her, turning his head to the side and back, to the side and back again. Their eyes met, heads just missing each other as their skin took on a beautiful, shimmering glow.

Loki's skin lost its pale, human colour. His eyes glowed a vibrant ruby as he kept his eyes fastened on hers. Hermione hummed in response, her eyes glowing a bright, brilliant gold. They moved back and forth, rocking back with a sway and then forward, almost touching.

The boys started to sway in rhythm, their eyes glazing over.

Loki dipped his head, then Hermione mirrored the action. Their shoulders moved from side to side, their heads following with a slow drag. Loki gave a slow, lazy blink, and Hermione closed her eyes, slowly sliding her cheek like a cat against his. There was a glisten of scales as she rubbed against him, and his tongue flicked out to taste the air, and hers moved out to move against his face.

" _ **Hnnnnnnnnn,"**_ Hermione sang.

" _ **Nnnnnnnnnh,"**_ Loki replied.

Their bodies flew out of the room through the open door in a flurry of brilliant scales and feathers, with only the feathered tail as the last clue that the two Quetzalcoatls had other things in mind. Hermione's voice sang out over the temple, joined with Loki's. Gold and cobalt scales moved over the face of the temple, blocking all the exits and windows as a resounding hissing purr rumbled through the stone.

Severus waved his hands in front of the swaying young wizards. They all stared dreamily into space with blissed-out looks on their faces.

"So beautiful," they slurred in unison, drooling slightly.

Severus pinched his nose. "Bloody amateurs."

Severus opened his eyes and thought for a moment, a rather sly look spreading across his face. "I can definitely work with _this_."

"Anything you want," the boys chimed together.

Severus smiled.

* * *

Hours later, when a smug looking Loki came back in with a satisfied Hermione on his arm they stopped to see a rather strange scene in front of them.

Harry was juggling multiple booklets, all of which were squeaking in obvious happiness. Draco was organising all of Severus' potion ingredients by size and alphabetical order, and Theo had apparently built an impressive miniature-scale Hogwarts out of old Daily Prophets complete with a fully-articulated giant squid and Fang chasing garden gnomes out on the green.

"Father?" Hermione questioned.

Severus turned, arching a brow. "Welcome home, daughter."

Loki poked Theo squarely on the nose, who didn't even seem to notice.

"What happened to them?"

Severus gave a gallant shrug. "They stared upon the shifting forms of a mated pair of Quetzalcoatls. It'll probably wear off in a few hours."

* * *

"They're so beautiful, Hermione," Luna cooed. "May I touch them?"

Hermione lowered her feathered head, her tongue flicking out to taste the air in front of the blonde witch. " _ **Hnnn."**_

Luna placed her hands on the shining shells, and magic thrummed from inside, responding to Luna's touch. Hermione nudged one. _**"Hnnnnnnnnnnn."**_

Loki's deep azure cerulean head dipped down. _**"Nnnnnnnnnh!"**_

The clutch of eggs thrummed and sang back as one.

"Amazing!" Luna said. Her face lit up with wonder. She moved the moss back around the glistening eggs. "You must be so proud."

Hermione's head swayed, her neck entwining lovingly with Loki's. "Hnnn?"

"Oh, I'd love a drink," Luna said. "Have you tried cucumber mint tea? Daddy says it's good for cooling down on hot days."

Hermione's scales rippled, her feathered crest rising.

"No? I'll have to bring some," Luna said. "Regular tea would be fine though. Did you know one of your Nifflers has a fondness for waffles?"

"Luna, dear, there you are," Xenophilius called from the lower platform. "I would like some time to ask some question too, dear daughter."

"Sorry, Daddy," Luna said sweetly. "The eggs were itching. Singing makes them feel better."

"Oh, well that's alright then," Xenophilius said with a smile.

Luna jumped over the edge of the nest and slid down the side of the temple, landing neatly on her feet on the platform balcony below. "See you on the inside, you two!"

The gold and blue Quetzalcoatls just stared at each other and seemed to give a serpentine shrug. Hermione nosed more moss around the eggs, singing to them sweetly as Loki did the same. The eggs thrummed, singing back to their parents. They nosed more soft moss and protective vines over the eggs, letting the sun heat them and later the moon to cool them. A pair of Nifflers popped out of the moss and deposited a large pile of treasure around the nest and then disappeared.

Loki hiss-laughed, nuzzling his mate as she shook her head in bemusement. Hermione slithered down the temple sides and shrank down in side, landing on the balcony in human form. Loki joined her, putting his arm around her as they walked in together.

* * *

_**Quetzalcoatl Soon To Be Lottals** _

_In an exclusive interview with the mated pair of Quetzalcoatls who have recently taken up residence courtesy of the goblin nation in Gringott's London, I have the great pleasure of bringing you the information that everyone has been clamoring for._

**Xenophilius:** So, Mister and Mrs—

 **Loki:** I chose to take my lady wife's name to honour her father.

 **Xenophilius:** So Granger-Snape, then?

 **Hermione and Lok** i: Yes.

 **Xenophilius:** Loki is quite an interesting name. The Norse God of Mischief. Do you feel that you live up to that name?

 **Hermione:** He certainly tries.

 **Loki:** Sometimes I even succeed.

 **Xenophilius:** So Quetzalcoatls. How long have you both known?

 **Hermione:** I've dreamed of them since I was a little girl.

 **Loki:** I fear I was quite oblivious of my true nature until I first heard her sing, heard her calling out to me.

 **Xenophilius:** She sings?

 **Loki:** Oh— yes. Beautifully.

 **Xenophilius:** What did that feel like to you?

 **Loki:** Like the first glorious rays of sun shining down upon a glacier that has known only the night since time immemorial.

 **Xenophilius:** And what does his song make you feel like, Hermione?

 **Hermione:** Blessed completion. Like I've found the piece of my soul that I've been missing from the moment I was born.

 **Xenophilius:** Amazing. So, is it true?

 **Hermione:** Is what true, exactly? There are a great many rumours.

 **Xenophilius:** You are the sun and he the moon.

 **Hermione:** Well, the sun is still out there, and so it the moon, so I think we are safe.

 **Xenophilius:** I mean, are you actually a pair of solar and lunar Quetzalcoatls?

 **Loki:** All signs point to that, so I would have to say yes.

 **Xenophilius:** Legends say that the pair will bring the winds, rain, and sun and make even the most barren land paradise. Do you believe it?

 **Hermione:** I have my own piece of paradise on Earth.

 **Xenophilius:** Loki?

 **Loki:** My paradise is with my mate.

 **Xenophilius** : I have heard that the Castelobruxo, the premier Brazilian school of magic, has sent representatives to Britain to bless your pairing. Is this true?

 **Loki:** They were most courteous and encouraging. I believe there is some hope that they might make a pilgrimage to cast certain old magic rituals that have not been possible, without a mated pair of our kind, in a great many centuries.

 **Xenophilius:** Do you support this?

 **Hermione:** The goblins are more than willing to negotiate with Castelobruxo, and I find that I am quite appreciative of their thoughtfulness and consideration.

 **Xenophilius:** If you don't mind the question, what would you say is the current state of affairs between yourselves and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?

 **Hermione:** I fear that all official communication has broken down between us. Since I was forced to leave Hogwarts, and to be fair, I did not have a job there to justify my continued residence there, save for the fact that I had yet to complete my seventh year with the rest of my year mates. However, had I not been unjustly pressured into completing my mastership by the Animagus Registry's shadow laws, which were put into place by former Minister Fudge and Secretary Umbridge, I would have remained living on the premises until the end of term. Originally, Headmaster Dumbledore had given his approval for my staying on there indefinitely, as my father teaches there and, as such, that is his primary residence, but the Board of Governors voted against my staying due to a number of rules that I was not previously made aware of.

 **Xenophilius** : Do you feel any lingering anger towards them for their actions?

 **Hermione:** No. I have my mate and a truly amazing place to live. The goblins are a generous and wonderful people, and I am very happy that they have been so kind as to make accommodation for us and our growing family.

 **Xenophilius:** If I may ask, what are you currently doing for employment? There are those out there who choose to claim that you are merely living off the kindness of others.

 **Loki:** What are their names, Mr Lovegood?

 **Xenophilius** : Xeno, please. Ahem. I fear that it is not my place to say.

 **Loki:** It is foolish for people to simply assume that, in choosing to make our home with a people known for both their frugality and their reputation as masters of investment, some of those remarkable qualities would not inspire and motivate us as well.

 **Hermione:** My father and I own and operate a rather lucrative potions business with contracts that more than cover our living expenses. We work together during the holidays, and my husband and I have taken to handling the rest whenever he is busy teaching.

 **Xenophilius:** There are rumours about which suggest that you may have cursed some of your former classmates from Hogwarts. Is there any truth to such talk?

 **Hermione:** I swear to you on my wand and my magic that I am not responsible for any and all curses or other maladies which may be afflicting any of my former classmates. So mote it be. Lumos. [Madam Granger-Snape's wand flashed brightly in confirmation of her oath.]

 **Xenophilius:** Well, that clears that up quite efficiently! Is it true that just one shard of a shell from a Quetzalcoatl hatchling would command a king's ransom?

 **Hermione:** I wouldn't know. I haven't bothered to investigate the market with regard to such things.

 **Xenophilius** : Any truth to your amassing a great army of thralls to take over the world?

 **Hermione:** [Madam Granger-Snape coughs up her tea] **What?**

 **Loki:** Why, feeling like joining our army?

 **Xenophilius:** [laughs] Thank you for kindly entertaining our questions today.

 **Hermione:** You are quite welcome.

* * *

_**Ronald Weasley Reported Missing** _

_Ronald Bilius Weasley was just reported missing by both his parents and his brothers Fred and George, proprietors of the Weasleys Wizard Wheezes joke shop located in Diagon Alley, which is where Ronald was working at the time of his disappearance. Ron has been working at his brother's shop since graduation, and he failed to show up at work last week._

_A search of Ronald Weasley's London flat revealed no sign of foul play other than an extremely dirty and disheveled bedroom filled with a multiple piles of assorted rubbish and containing a shockingly violent and highly destructive enchanted book entitled_ 'Multiple Bludgers to the Head'. _The book, according to the corresponding Aurors' report, attempted to attack anyone and anything it came in contact with and had to be repeatedly stunned before being secured in warded chains and sent off to the DoM to be analysed for any lingering sign of curses and/or Dark magic._

_Found amongst the piles of destruction were the remains of three books bearing the Hogwarts stamp that, it is assumed, were either borrowed or stolen from the school library. Other than some odd transfiguration that made the remains of the books seem like they might've been covered in some sort of fur, the Aurors could only make out the Hogwart's stamp on the inner covers of two books and the partially stabbed cover illustration of a book that had a badly-burned cauldron on it. All the other pages appeared to have been systematically burnt to ash._

_Both Fred and George Weasley adamantly deny accusations that they pranked their youngest brother into running away._

" _Merlin knows we tried to do so for years. It didn't work then, so why would it suddenly work now, yeah?" the twins told our reporter in unison._

" _He's been a foul-mouthed, ill-tempered, sodding git for months," Fred explained. "And he wasn't all that much better before that."_

" _We'd have fired him ages ago if we thought our mum wouldn't have had a coronary on the spot," George agreed._

_Anyone who believes they may have seen or perhaps heard from Ronald Weasley recently should immediately contact Auror Alastor Moody at the DMLE either in person or via owl._

* * *

Ginny itched her skin. Oddly, It felt too… tight. She'd tried showering and moisturising often but that was doing absolutely _nothing_ for her. Now she found herself restlessly roaming the halls of Hogwarts. The discomfort seemed to come and go each month, yet it kept on growing stronger and more annoying each time it returned. It was strong enough now that it had her trying to itch her skin off and drove her to roam the halls desperately looking for any form of relief there could be had.

Madam Pomfrey had kindly offered to send her round to St Mungo's for a thorough exam, but Ginny hadn't wanted to go there for a mere troublesome itch. Even a bloody _maddening_ itch. Pomfrey had been quite worried that she was coming down with some insidious sort of pox, but all the tests she performed kept coming back negative.

She avoided all of the patrolling prefects and staff members with ease. She knew exactly where Mr Filch always checked for post-curfew snoggers and other random troublemakers, so she stuck with the areas that no one wanted to be at this hour: the library corridor. Only the most studious of Ravenclaws and Hermione fucking Granger _ever_ got caught after hours at the sodding library, as most Ravenclaws followed the rules scrupulously and actually left said library when they were supposed to.

Every so often Mr Filch would make a pass by the library, but that was only if he spotted a candle or lantern. Ginny _knew_ better. She never needed a light when she felt this restless wandering itch, anyway.

 _Damn_ this itch!

She scratched her arms as she brushed by the bookshelves. She itched herself again. She tried to rub against the shelf, but it really didn't help.

_**RrrrooowRRRRRRR.** _

The collection of silly animated books that Madam Pince had chained up to keep them from escaping the library were straining to get at her. Ginny snorted as she walked by them. She rubbed against the shelves to scratch the itch on her back. The itch refused to ease, and Ginny began to become more desperate.

She ran her back along the spines of the books in a mad attempt to relieve the itching that seemed to be trying to tear out of her skin from below. Her eyes widened as the moment her bare skin touched the books, the itching stopped.

She sank down to the floor, enjoying the blessed relief.

_Itch. Itchitch. Itch!_

Ginny pulled at her hair and struggled to stand up again to attempt to rub herself up against the bookshelves again, but as she did, she ended up pulling half the shelf down on the ground along with her.

**Clank. SNAP.**

Something squirmed on top of her, and Ginny grunted as she lay prostrate on top of a pile of now-unshelved library books.

_**Rrrr.** _

Ginny groaned. She'd accidently freed one of those horrible, animated books. Yet, even as she felt it bouncing on top of her, perhaps trying to find a place to sink its unnatural book-teeth into her like all the animated books seemed to want to do after she had—

Ginny hadn't felt even the slightest bit guilty. She had known that the purple and white-spotted book had been one of Hermione's favourite books. And Hermione had somehow turned into some fancy, impossibly fantastic, magical beast and now _everyone_ wanted to shower her with expensive gifts and send delegations to pay tribute. What _was_ she? A Muggleborn? A bookworm? Some pitiful excuse for a witch who made friends with stupid _BOOKS_ instead of people?

It had just made her so very mad, and then the bloody book had bit her squarely on the face in its desperate attempt to escape her clutches. She'd then taken out all of her frustrations out on that sodding book and proceeded to beat and tear it to pieces . Because of Hermione, Harry wouldn't even look twice at her. Because of Hermione sodding Granger— _SNAPE!_

And there was the biggest rub of all.

Instead of accepting her family when her mother had taken pity on her, Hermione had chosen _SNAPE—_ the most nasty, ugly, foul-tempered, greasy-haired bastard in all the school. Oh sure, Mum thought Snape was a responsible man. What had she said? Complicated. He was— complicated.

Whatever.

Mum had said Hermione had lost her parents and that she needed support and understanding. But where was Ginny's understanding? Her mum had doted on and given her everything until _HERMIONE_ had lost her parents. Feh. Hermione hadn't had to grow up in a house full of boys. Hermione hadn't had to be the youngest child that everyone had loved until someone came along and took it all away!

Oh, sure, she'd been Hermione's friend for a while. She'd even seemed nice— helpful even. But Hermione hadn't even known she was magical until her Hogwarts letter had come. Her parents didn't even know how to change their money until her father had gone and graciously helped them— little lost family who didn't know even a lick about Diagon Alley.

A little tickle in her head tried to remind her that Harry, her idol, hadn't known anything either, but that was swiftly drowned out by her far more numerous, much more dominant and angry thoughts. Harry, at least, had magical blood in him.

_**AGH!** _

The _**ITCH!**_

She rolled around on top of the books, and just as soon as the smooth leather touched her skin, she cried out in relief. Sweet, blessed relief. She grabbed a book to try and push herself off the ground, and a dark maroon-furred book tried to squirm out of her arms. However, as her hands touched the fur, a feeling of relief seemed to rush through her. And she stilled.

She stroked the book with her fingers, and, just like magic, the itching suddenly stopped. Clutching the book tightly against herself, Ginny struggled to get back up. She groaned as the itching started up again, and she hugged the book close, kneeling on the floor with her face pressed up against the maroon book's fur.

_Wizarding Fertility: Sex Magick For Power and Success_

Ugh. No _wonder_ it was in the restricted section. She moved to fling the book away, but even as the thought about it, the itch started up again, and she desperately pulled the book against her again, pressing the fur against her chest. Ginny fell on her side, whimpering. What the _hell_ was this horrible, maddening itch?

The book made a strange, oddly soothing purring sound as she rubbed her face into its covers. Her body grew strangely… warm. Merlin, did that _ever_ feel good! She groaned. Her face flushed in embarrassment that she was feeling this good because of some ruddy library book. Really, _really_ good—

Ginny shuddered. Her body grew almost unbearably hot, and she started to roll herself over the ground to increase the sensations, the utterly delicious, almost erotic feeling of friction. Anything— _anything_ to make the sensations of pleasure grow even stronger.

_**Rrrrr?** _

Ginny's eyes widened as the purring maroon book gave her what seemed like an experimental _lick_.

_**Sweet, merciful Merlin!** _

Ginny found herself purring back ecstatically. She rubbed her face against the maroon book, her breathing soon becoming fast and heavy in her state of arousal. She looked dazedly into the maroon book's suddenly beautiful green eyes as an very intense surge of toe-curling, undeniable ecstasy ripped through her body. Right before everything went blissfully black.

* * *

" _ **Merlin's creeping toenail fungus!"**_ Madam Pince screeched in shock, breaking her own rules about raising her voice in the library. "What in the bloody hell _**happened**_ in here?!"

A crowd of students from various years were all silent and staring, gathered around something in a rough sort of semicircle. There were books _everywhere_. The shelves had been toppled. The desks had all been moved around, and there were these strange little squeaking noises coming from the floor.

Pince made her way forward, pushing the gawking students out of her way. She looked down at what they were staring at and had the sudden urge to sit down.

There, in a pile of Gryffindor robes, with a student's wand lying on top, was a rather plump-looking ginger-furred book snuggling with a deep maroon book. The maroon book she recognised as belonging in the restricted section, but the ginger-furred book was a new one: _Wizarding Fertility: A Case Study._

But that wasn't what had her boggling and desperately searching for a very large, very strong coffee, perhaps even with a healthy shot of firewhisky in it, no. All around the happily canoodling books, were a vast number of small, furry books— ginger with maroon spots and maroon with ginger spots— all gambolling and bouncing and skittering about the carpeted floor, squeaking excitedly.

Each of the frolicking booklets bore the very same title: _The Teen's Guide To Truly Magical Sex: What Mum and Dad Won't Tell You_.

Strangely, Madam Pince's first thought was to wonder how in the world the publisher managed to fit such an absurdly long title on the booklets' rather petite book spines. Her second thought was wondering if she should round them all up and gift them to Madam Pomfrey for those students that came in asking all those awkward questions.

The baby booklets bounced up to Pince's ankles and rubbed up against her, purring. At that, the vulturing witch's hardened expression suddenly softened. She knelt down, and all of the booklets sprung into her arms, purring madly. Tiny furry hearts formed over the booklet's covers as they snuggled up to Pince's wrinkled, yet no-longer-quite-so-hardened face.

_**PurrRRrRRRRRrrRRRRRR!** _

With a quick wave of her wand, Pince banished the two canoodling books off to the restricted section and set the entire library back to rights. She took her armful of happy, cooing baby booklets with her— the very first smile anyone had ever seen her with now plastered all over her aged face. She hesitated before leaving, gesturing with her wand, and the pile of apparently discarded robes followed her as she made her way up to the Headmaster's office.

* * *

Baby booklets bounced up and down on Albus Dumbledore's desk, merrily chasing an oddly amused-looking Fawkes, flinging his quills, toppling his inkwells, spinning his globe, swimming in his pensieve, and trying to cuddle with the giant copy of Hogwarts: A History.

Fawkes seemed to get a handle on the situation by sitting on top of them, and the booklets cooed and snuggled under the warm phoenix like strangely book-shaped chicks.

Albus stared at his familiar. "Is this _your_ doing?"

Fawkes just blinked at him and Albus got the rather odd feeling that his familiar was scoffing at him and thinking him utterly daft. _**"Kaww?"**_

"So, you say found this uniform— Ginevra Weasley's if the distinctive hand-sewn label is to be believed— in the middle of the library with just shelves and books and tables everywhere and a bunch of—

The booklets bounced up and down on his desk and leapt at him, sliding down his beard with an unmistakeable _"Whee!"_

Albus cleared his throat. "Book-lets?"

"I'm pretty sure as to which particular books _did the deed_ , as it were," Pince answered faintly, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. "The unusual colouring gave them away."

"I see. And which books would those be, Madam?"

" _Wizarding Fertility Rites: Sex Magick For Power and Success_ and _Wizarding Fertility: A Case Study,"_ Madam Pince replied.

Albus peered down at the collection of happy baby booklets over his half-moon spectacles. "I believe that may explain the _The Teen's Guide To Truly Magical Sex: What Mum and Dad Won't Tell You_."

"I'll have Minerva check the tower for Miss Weasley," Dumbledore said with a baffled expression. "As I understand it, Ginevra has spent several weeks in detention with you already this year?"

"Yes, I discovered that she was the person responsible for stealing one of the books out from my library and… dismembering it."

Dumbledore stroked his beard rather thoughtfully. "Well, if she doesn't turn up, I'm afraid I will have to inform Molly that her daughter has sadly left a rather disturbing trail of literary destruction in her wake.

"Headmaster, I must respectfully request an expansion of the school library and the creation of a separate section for the— livelier books."

"Hrm, probably a wise idea," Albus agreed. "Very well, you may do so. The Board has been strangely silent of late, so I feel I will take that as an unqualified yes."

"Thank you, Headmaster," Pince replied.

"In the meantime, Madam," Albus said, "Might I prevail upon you to kindly de-infest my office?"

Fawkes sat on top of his collection of baby booklets, tenderly covering them up with his wings.

The bouncing booklets all froze into place, some of them sliding off the globe they had been spinning on. They all burst into tears, wailing together.

"You're such a cruel taskmaster, Headmaster," Pince said.

* * *

_**Weasley Daughter Missing, Leaves Behind a Trail of Wanton Literary Destruction** _

_Mere weeks after Ronald Weasley was first reported missing, we must sadly report that his sister, Ginevra Weasley, has also been reported missing. Miss Weasley's school robes were discovered on the floor of a ransacked library at Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft And Wizardry by the school librarian, Madam Irma Pince, just yesterday._

_Unfortunately, Ginevra Weasley, the only girl-child born to the extensive Weasley family line in generations, has been distancing herself from all of her friends at school over the last several months with her increasingly inexplicable and destructive behaviour. That being the case, none of them even knew she was missing until the Aurors arrived to question them as to Miss Weasley's possible whereabouts._

_If anyone believes they may have seen Miss Weasley or have received word from her, they are requested to contact Auror Alastor Moody at the DMLE at once, either in person or via a direct owl to his office. The DMLE kindly requests only owls. please. While they do appreciate the fine specimen of capercaillie which delivered some correspondence last week, the unfortunate creature managed to get itself stuck in the mail delivery chutes._

* * *

_**Bumper Crop of Vegetables in This Year's Record Harvest** _

_Farmers all across Britain are joyfully reporting a never-before-reported surplus of crops this year with many record-breaking, top quality specimens from pumpkins to radishes. Food banks everywhere have now been filled to bursting for the first time ever, and we have been assured that the homeless will not be going hungry anytime soon._

_Muggles have remained ignorant of our new resident Quetzalcoatls, but the Wizarding world remains smug, feeling they know exactly why things are looking up over Britain. Reports of better conditions even outside of Great Britain are slowly trickling in, and some experts are predicting that as our very own mated pair continue to grow in power, the blessings will spread well beyond our nation's shores._

" _This is simply HUGE!" noted Magi-Agriculturist Penny Peabody-DeWitt enthused._

"Don't make me tie you down to this chair, Erik," Thor growled darkly as Darcy tried to give Dr Selvig a drink.

The bearded old man from the counter brought them each a frothy mug of some sort of steaming drink. Selvig immediately tried to snorkel face-first into the hot beverage and would've certainly done so had Jane not quickly lunged forward to stop him.

Thor stared down at his drink and then took a deep swig, his eyes widening in surprise as he realised he rather liked its sweet, creamy flavour. He promptly downed the whole thing, slamming the drinking vessel down on his table in unmistakable approval.

Darcy looked around curiously, She shuffled up to the counter and whispered to the man tending bar behind it. "You wouldn't happen to have an um, blanket handy for my old friend here? He wandered out of the house without his clothes again."

The man's eyebrows rose slightly. "Ah, one of those, aye. We get a few every week. There is a box here in back. Take whatever you need. Might find a shirt and some trousers that fit yer friend too."

"Thanks, uh—"

"Tom, miss. You're quite welcome."

Darcy grabbed a few things from the box, boggling as the box strangely seemed just as full when she left as when she started digging through it. She rushed back to Selvig and hurriedly dressed him like a young mother with an embarrassing naked toddler who had just streaked through the grocery right in front of god and everyone.

Thor slammed down his fifth tankard of frothy beverage with a reverberating belch that caught every eye in the room. "This stuff is **fantastic!** "

"That's the spirit, lad," a guy with a pointed hat said, saluting him with his own mug of foamy beverage.

Jane looked around. "Do the people here seem a bit— strange to you?"

Darcy just stared blankly at Jane. "You are asking ME this? With Mr Blond Hottie Of-The-Killer-Abs downing his drinks like he's going to empty Tom the bartender's entire vat of frothy goodness?"

"Mrrow."

A black and white cat with somewhat bat-like ears grabbed the empty tankard and carried it off.

Darcy stared in frank astonishment as the cheeky feline busboy left. "How is this even natural?!"

Owls hooted raucously at Darcy from the highest rafters, bobbing their heads at her in avian amusement and curiosity. An entire line of owls flew down and snatched up tankards from Thor's ever-growing pile of empties and carried them off to the kitchen for a wash, even as a freshly-filled tankard appeared directly in front of Thor, seemingly out of nowhere, with a sharp double crack of sound.

Darcy sat down on her hands, totally unsure of what to say or do in this increasingly strange situation.

"Laydee Jhane," Thor's voice slurred in a low murmur, looking sideways at Jane with a heady mix of lust and pure adoration. "You hhhaf the mosht mezzmerrrishing hipsssh."

"Why… ah, thank you, Thor. I think," Jane stammered, making a face as she gently pushed him back into his seat.

The owls above hooted loudly to each other, their eyes half-closed in owlish mirth.

"I really do think they're laughing at us," a now-squirming Darcy said, growing even more paranoid by the minute.

"I whud rheally like to shee you whithout gharments," Thor said almost dreamily.

"I'm sure you would, Thor," Jane said sitting him back down in the chair. "No more of that frothy stuff for you, I think you've had quite enough already."

"Barman!" Thor blurted. "What is this liquid of wonder you serve?"

"Butterbeer, my good man," Tom called from the counter.

"But this flavour— it tastes like no ordinary beer!"

"Butterscotch."

"Butter scotch. I— _**LIKE IT!**_ More of this buttered scotch!"

"Coming right up, sir," Tom called back.

Darcy rubbed her temples as Tom brought another round of "buttered scotch" and four heaping bowls of shepherd's stew in warm bread bowls. She sipped the frothy beverage and blinked. "This is just butterscotch— I mean, you know— butterscotch-butterscotch!"

Jane sniffed the drink and sipped tentatively. "This is really _good!_ "

Darcy made a face, puckering her lips and gesturing with her eyebrows at Thor.

Jane shook her head and shrugged as if to say "How the hell should _**I**_ know?"

Thor was attempting to read what appeared to be some sort of local newspaper, but the pictures were moving. Jane and Darcy stared at it (and Thor) in morbid fascination. Thor's eyebrows were raised high and his lips were moving slowly as his mind fought to make sense of what his eyes were trying to tell him.

"Not _**possible**_ ," Thor blurted out in clear shock. He bashed the paper down onto the table a few times as if to shock it into telling him the true story.

"Oh, my sweet Lady Granger-Snape," Tom's voice cooed in obvious pleasure from the counter. "You really shouldn't have."

"I fear you'll have to blame our Rith," a feminine voice laughed. "He took quite a shine to your book of English Bar Songs."

A warm brown-furred book with startlingly blue eyes cooed up at him. Tom cuddled it to his chest. "You're such a bonnie lass, my old friend. Just look at you now."

_**PurrrRrrrRrrrrrr!** _

"Your usual seats, my friends?"

"Please."

"I believe Alastor sent word that he would be a little late this evening," Tom said, leading them to a table in the back near a warm hearth. "The Weasley investigations, you know."

The young woman nodded understandingly, and her male escort pressed his lips tenderly to her temple in a soothing gesture.

"I'll go and seat them, grandpa," a little girl's voice said sweetly. The child might have been nine or ten, but her face was unusually pale with a sort of heavy tiredness that was very noticeable in her gentle blue eyes.

"Now, Wren, my dear, you _know_ you're not supposed to be working too hard," Tom said sadly.

"I'm not dead yet, granddad," she said with a warm smile. She shooed him off, imperiously.

The girl lead the young couple to the back and sat them down, fetching them both their water and tea by hand.

"Your grandfather worries about you," the man said quietly.

"Let's get a look at you, okay?" the woman said fondly, hoisting the little girl up into the seat.

"Lady Hermione, would you please sing for me?" Wren asked, gazing up hopefully at her.

"Dear child, right here in the tavern?"

Wren nodded her head up and down vigorously. "Please? My mummy and daddy used to sing for me before—"

Hermione flashed an understanding smile with just a hint of true sadness behind it for the enormity of the little girl's losses. "Close your eyes, my love," Hermione said.

Wren closed her eyes tightly.

Hermione's body rocked slowly from side-to-side, her eyes closed. Loki's moved in rhythm with hers, and they curved themselves around Wren with eerily flexible bodies. Hermione and Loki folded their arms in front of themselves as they rocked. They dipped their heads to touch the girl on the head, causing her to smile and giggle softly, but she obediently kept her eyes closed.

" _ **Hnnnnnnnnnnnnn,"**_ Hermione sang.

" _ **Nnnnnnnnnnnnngh**_ ," Loki sang in harmony.

They moved against each other, brushing lightly, shoulders and arms sealed tightly against their bodies as if they had no arms at all. Feathers rustled. Scale rubbed against scale. Their tongues flicked, and wild magic sang in response to their own pulsing magic as the wind rose, even indoors, and the fresh, intoxicating scent of petrichor filled the very air around them.

Brightly-feathered wings unfolded, overlapping them all in both a rainbow of colours and the bright, solemn glow of the moon. Golden scales brushed against deep cobalt. Magic whispered across every scale. Life pulsed with every touch. The golden serpent lowered her head, a trail of glistening feathers dripped from her golden eyes, splashing on the girl's face.

" _ **Nnnnnnnnnnn,**_ " they sang together, their feathers brushing across the girl's skin as their coils moved around her, rising up, cradling her, rocking her to the sound of magic's whisper in the air.

Instantly, tears began to trickle down every face in the tavern.

Soft little feathers and tiny, shimmering scales rained down upon Wren and infested her hair as her hair wove itself into a long, thin braid by her ear. Feathers and scales tinkled and shimmered, ending with a tiny crystal vial whose rare contents glowed with the power of ancient magic.

They lay her down gently in Tom's arms, their tails withdrawing as the pair shimmered and shrank, their quetzalcoatl forms fading back into that which was far more human and less godly.

Wren was trembling to keep her eyes closed.

"You may open your eyes now, dear child," Loki said kindly.

Wren's eyes opened and she took in a deep breath. Her eyes grew wide. "The pain is _gone_ , grandfather!" She flung her arms around his neck and burst into tears of joy as the tiny vial tinkled in her hair.

Tom stared, wide-eyed, at his now-healthy granddaughter with wonder and then back to the pair, stunned speechless.

"I don't suppose I could trouble you for a drink," Loki said with a lopsided grin. "I'm beat."

Tom's face beamed brightly. "The best in the house. Now and until the day I'm unable to cook!"

A tankard crashed to the floor and everyone turned to face the source of the sound.

" _Brother?"_ Thor blurted out hoarsely, staring in disbelief.

Loki tilted his head slightly and favoured Thor with a look of mild curiosity. "Well, hello there, brother. What brings you so low as to visit the exiled one in Miðgarðr, hrm?"

* * *

"Exiled?" Jane stared at Loki. She couldn't help it. There was something powerful about him that wasn't in the immediate look, that wasn't as blatantly obvious as it was with Thor. While Thor seemed like a whale in the middle of a desert biome, this— Loki— had a different sort of aloofness or indifference in his manner. Yet at the same time, he was the kind of person who cared enough to heal a sick child— actually heal them with magic.

 _Real_ magic.

Not stuff you see on David Copperfield or 101 acts in Vegas, no.

"Is it because you're a giant flying lizard?" Darcy asked in eager curiosity.

Jane stepped on Darcy's foot. Hard.

" _ **Ow!"**_ Darcy glared at Thor, thinking him responsible.

Loki eyed Darcy with the very same expression that Jane imagined she herself might use to greet a very enthusiastic puppy that just piddled in excitement all over her brand new white carpet. "Serpent," Loki said with a distinct sniff.

Jane just shook her head. Darcy was usually very observant, not really the type to mix up flying snake with flying lizard, but both things were pretty much out there for hardcore scientists, so she found she couldn't really blame Darcy _TOO_ much. The owls were gathering again, peering down at them from above. Ever so often, this— Hermione— would hold out her hand with something in it, and the owls would alight on her hand and take something from her, shuffle up her arm and rub themselves against her ear, and then fly back up to the rafters. There was something about _her_ , too. It was almost… alien, the same sort of eerie, surreal feeling you might get when you look at someone and they look just like your mother but they also seem a little _too_ much like said mother. It was kind of hard to explain, even in her own head— which is where it was bouncing around as crazily as a monkey on speed.

There was a tiny, furry book peeking out at her from Hermione's hair. In fact, it was… _staring_ at her. Jane shifted uncomfortably.

A tiny, fuzzy pink heart formed over the book's cover.

Jane felt every bad emotion she'd ever have in her life suddenly flee screaming into the night, and she opened her hands in a gesture.

_**SPRONG!** _

The purple book with golden spots purred happily and rubbed itself all over her hands.

Jane's lips quivered and she snuggled it closely.

_**PururururrrrrRRRRrrRRRRR!** _

Jane's eyes widened slightly as Loki's penetrating gaze bored into her, but his expression began soften as he watched her snuggle the little furry book. Perhaps, it was a sign of approval or at least something a bit less cold. Loki leaned over and whispered something softly into his lady's ear, and Hermione turned to peer at Jane, inclining her head with undeniable re-evaluation. Her eyes were warm, but there was a certain… something in her demeanor that made Jane suspect that Hermione had been hurt badly by something in her past, and that, as a result, her trust was understandably somewhat harder to gain. Then again, it seemed to her that Loki was much the same. There was something deeper to him that simmered underneath, hidden under the gaze of ice.

" _ **Rrrr! Rrrrp!"**_ The little book her hands hopped onto her shoulder and cuddled up to her neck. It gave her a pasty lick and snuggled against her, blissfully oblivious to anyone _but_ her.

It was all Jane could do to keep herself from breaking down into a gushing, babbling, melty mess of emotional "Awwwwww!"

"Careful, Dr Foster," Hermione's voice said in a soft rumble of sound. "You may never be rid of him now. All may be lost if he licks you."

Jane flushed bright red.

"Too late, my love," Loki said in clear amusement, eyeing Jane with a somewhat less predatory evaluation.

"Heliotrope," Hermione said, extending her hand.

The little book squeaked and bounced down Jane's arm to hop into Hermione's. Jane felt a distinct pang of loss.

The purple book cooed as Hermione pressed her forehead to the cover of the little book. "Be good now, little one," she whispered, pressing a gentle kiss on the book's cover.

A big heart appeared over the book's cover, and Heliotrope gave Hermione a final lick before bouncing back to Jane and hopping into her hands. Jane instinctively hugged him, feeling as though she had just lost and refound a big piece of herself.

"Take care of him," Hermione said, her brown eyes flashing bright gold for a moment. "He's a good little book."

Jane could only nod gratefully. Heliotrope trembled in her hands and shook violently a moment, then—

_**Shing!** _

Golden letters appeared over his spine: _Science is Magic Too_.

"Aww, I think I'm jealous!" Darcy said, pouting.

Heliotrope promptly dove into Jane's hair

Jane tried to look like she was paying more attention than she actually was to Thor's conversation with his brother— wondering what Thor's parents looked like where Loki's parentage was simply accepted from the start. She came from a long line of dark blondes. Had she had a brother with black hair and ice-blue eyes, her parents would have been wondering if someone had mixed up the babies at the hospital.

"Milkman," was what her grandmother would have said.

Just then, a rather intimidating-looking man walked in from the street. He had grey-blond hair going in all directions and… was that an _eye_ in some kind of ring, patch… thing?

"Nehhh," the man said, grabbing himself a drink off the counter as he walked by, tossing the barman some sort of gold coin as he passed. "Having a party, folks?"

Hermione smiled at him. "Have a seat, Alastor. This is Dr Jane Foster, Darcy Lewis, and Dr Erik Selvig." Hermione inclined her head. "The big guy with the tankard is Thor. Everyone, this is Master Auror Alastor Moody."

" _Auror?"_ Darcy was always the first person to stand up and embarrass herself for others.

"You been livin' under a rock, lass?" Alastor said, looking her up and down. "I take it those aren't for show."

Darcy made a strange face as she stared at a now bemused-looking Moody.

"Do I need to call the Obliviation team, Hermione?" Alastor said casually, drinking his beverage.

"Thor is my husband's brother, Alastor. That will not be necessary."

Alastor looked at Thor and then back to Loki. "Uh… huh."

"Are you a gangster?" Dr Selvig blurted eagerly.

Moody puckered his face at that. "No."

Dr Selvig actually looked disappointed.

Hermione sighed. "It was entirely a chance meeting, Alastor, but apparently both brothers have been out of touch for awhile now."

"And you lot are all— related?"

"Jane is my woman," Thor said quickly.

"I am not a wo— I am not _**YOUR**_ woman!" Jane hissed with exasperation and flushing brightly.

"Methinks the lady doth protest just a little too much," Moody muttered half under his breath. He eyed the happy purple book perched on Jane's shoulder, evaluated Selvig's mismatched excuse for clothes, and watched a pair of sneaky ninja paws stealing all of Darcy's shiny objects. "I trust you will fill this lot in on the Statute of Secrecy?"

Hermione nodded.

"Wait, what would happen if—"

Jane kicked Darcy in the shins, again.

" _ **Ow!**_ What the _**hell**_ , Jane?!"

Jane gave Darcy a pointed look.

Moody finished his drink and the cheese sarnie he had pulled out of nowhere. "Look, Hermione, I have to go and finish the paperwork for the lost Weasleys again. Big pain in my arse, you as me."

Hermione frowned. "Alastor, is there a chance at all that somehow Ronald and Ginny were inflicted by the same sort of affliction?"

"You mean did your friends transform into some random oddly-coloured animated and sentient book?"

"Wouldn't _quite_ call them friends," Loki noted.

"Former schoolmates, then," Alastor said, rolling his good eye. "Whatever. The point is, Amelia and her team did all kinds of tests. Marcus even started one and got bitten on the nose, but he wasn't sprouting fur and drooling book paste. There is no Dark magic in them. If they bite you or lick you, you get library paste on you. Hell, that purple one with the white spots even gave me a love bite and I'm not showing any signs of turning into a book called " _Disgruntled Malcontent: An Auror's Life_ ," so I think we're safe, lass." Moody startled and opened up his jacket, pulling out a snoozing little leather book with mottled brown fur and sleepy grey eyes. It yawned with a squeak and looked around. "Here ya go, lass. Thanks for letting me borrow her."

The book whimpered, wilting in Moody's arm, looking up at him with soulful grey eyes.

"I dunno, my friend," Hermione chuckled. "I think she's taken a fancy to your own special brand of disgruntled malcontentedness."

"Besides," Loki said with a sly smile. "What else to keep you company on those cold nights at the office when you'd far rather be home?"

The mottled book looked up at him hopefully.

The Auror sighed with wholly feigned resignation. He gently pet the book on the cover and shook his head. "Fine. But I refuse to call her anything cute and humiliating."

A large furry heart formed over the mottled books cover.

**Shudder.**

**Shudder.**

**Shingggg!**

Golden letters appeared on the mottled book's spine: _The Perfectly Purrable Alastor Moody_

_**PurrrrrRRrRrrrRRRRR!** _

Loki grinned from ear-to-ear.

* * *

With Darcy taking the recovering Dr Selvig along with her to check into a newly-renovated guest suite in the Leaky, Loki invited his brother and his "woman/not your woman" Jane to stay with them at their home. The goblins eyed Thor with a sort of bored expression, but they stared at Jane for quite some time before finally deigning to let her through. Jane figeted, but Hermione explained that they were trying to remember her face since she had no magic or wand with which to identify her.

Jane tried not to freak out over the goblins in general— they looked very scary from far away and doubly so up close. It wasn't until a group of young goblets came running up to cling to Hermione and Loki's legs, and the pair sang their song to them. The children clapped and cheered, making sure to hug them before running off. The adult goblins just shook their heads, apologising for the young goblets' general lack of interest in niceties such as personal space.

"Goblet? Jane asked, thinking the drinking vessel.

Hermione smiled. "A young goblin is called a goblet. It makes for some pretty interesting misunderstandings in everyday conversation."

"I can see where someone might derail," Jane admitted, glad that Hermione had cleared that up before she became an unfortunate victim of that particular misunderstanding.

When they came to the vast overdrop overlooking the cavernous series of vaults and living quarters, Jane looked at Thor with no little panic in her wide brown eyes.

Loki turned to Thor, his ice-blue eyes shifting into a deep emerald green and then to ruby red. "Trust me, will you, brother?"

Thor could sense that there was something more to the question than just the words themselves. Loki was waiting for something— telling.

Hermione shook her head, loosening her mane from its restraining hair clip, colourful feathers and brunette hair descending into a thick mane of curls. Her eyes had bled into liquid gold— twin suns. Intricate, patterned markings rose up across her skin— deep grooves and high raised runes. Loki took her hand in his, and his skin grew darker into a deep cobalt. His eyes glittered like flawless rubies.

" _ **Hnnnnnn Hnnnnnnnn,"**_ Hermione sang.

" _ **Ahhhnnnnnnnnnnn,"**_ Loki rumbled lowly in reply.

Loki focused his intense, glowing ruby eyes on Thor, the look on his face almost fearful, hesitant. "Can you find it within yourself to accept me as I truly am, brother? Or shall our upbringing forever drive a wedge between us, just as Odin drove us both from Ásgarðr?"

Hermione's arms flexed and popped into place as they spread into a pair of great rainbow wings. Bright scales and feathers covered her skin, and her golden head lowered to touch Loki's. Her golden tongue slithered out to taste the air as the rest of her mass caught up with her and she expanded outward in a rush of warm magic.

Thor took a step back, his blue eyes going very wide as he stared at Loki in total shocked disbelief. "You _can't_ be."

" _ **Hnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn,**_ " Hermione crooned invitingly.

Loki's form stretched, and his arms folded inward, drawn tightly against his body and then fanned out as fine, softly glowing wings in the pale, luminous colour of the moon. His skin rippled as scales erupted outward and covered his body. His black hair thickened into a mane of mixed fur and feathers, all the deepest colours of the midnight sky. His ruby eyes glowed as his tongue flicked outward.

" _ **NnnnnnnnhhhhHHH,**_ " he crooned lowly, earning him a tender nuzzle of scale against scale from his beautiful mate.

"I _trust_ you brother," Thor said firmly, taking a large step forward. "You _are_ my brother. You have _always_ been my brother and you always _will_ be."

Hermione gently lowered her head to Jane, and Jane reached out to touch Hermione's mane of soft feathers. She ran her hands across her smooth, warm scales with a sense of wonder and awe.

Thor put his arms around her and silently gave her a lift up, and Jane hugged Hermione's head, carefully grasping hold of her feather shafts to feel more secure. Hermione rumbled, rubbing up against Loki just before she launched herself into the air.

Loki eyed his brother with silent, serpentine patience. Thor pressed his hand to Loki's head right between the eyes, and then leapt up onto his back. Loki promptly took off like a rocket, chasing after his mate in a flash of brilliant blue.

A burst of vivid gold sun flared through the cavern even as the softer blue-white of Loki's aura merged with his mate's. The pair rubbed up against each other as they flew in tandem towards home.

* * *

"Oh _wow_ ," Jane breathed, looking at the shimmering eggs on the dias and ran her hands across them. "They're beautiful! And so warm!"

Thor smiled warmly at Loki, crushing him to himself so hard it sounded like he might've inadvertently cracked a rib.

" _Hrk!"_ Loki whispered.

"Well _**done**_ , brother!" Thor said with a grin that was threatening to devour his entire face.

Loki managed to look both proud and smug as well.

Hermione hummed softly to the eggs, turning them gently in the sun. Jane helped to turn them, carefully pushing them with her weight. The eggs wobbled and moved reluctantly, as if too lazy to get out of bed. Jane looked at all the golden treasure piled around the eggs with no less wonder. Everything from coins, platters, jewelry, and gemstones lined the nest. Even as she watched, a pair of paws dropped a silver mirror onto the ever-growing pile.

"You two have quite a lot of— treasure in here," Jane said with a disbelieving grin.

Hermione slumped. "They just can't help themselves."

Loki smiled. "Severus believes the Nifflers are expressing their devotion to her by showering her nest in shinies."

" _Us_ ," Hermione corrected firmly, "and _ours_."

Loki grinned. He turned the egg closest to him and placed an ear to them. "Lazy serpent children. Not even a peep."

"They're sunbathing," Hermione said with a chuckle. "Besides, _**I**_ know someone who doesn't like to get out of bed too. Perhaps they inherited that tendency from him, hrm?"

Loki gave her a rather smug look. "I didn't hear any complaints, wife."

Hermione just smiled serenely at him.

"With five eggs, I should say not," Thor said, giving the nearby egg a fond pat. "Think of what mother would have done with five of us at one time."

Loki crossed his arms. "She'd have been drowning herself in the kegs."

Thor snorted. "Our lady mother would handle it in stride. Our father, however, might well have ended up in his cups."

Loki conceded. "True."

Both men sombered at the thought.

"I _miss_ her," Loki confessed quietly.

"Me too, brother," Thor said, putting his hand on his brother's shoulder. "She would so _love_ to see these eggs," he said. "Her first-to-be-born grandchildren."

Loki sighed. "I can only hope that Heimdall is at least watching us and can tell her that they are here waiting for her."

Thor gave Loki a little shake. "He will, provided our father has not expressly forbidden him to speak of it to anyone."

"Not to sound like the ignorant mortal girl here," Jane said, "but how does someone who has the power to kick his sons into another world judge another's humility?"

"He deserved it," Thor and Loki said together, sharing a "he did it" look.

"You are definitely brothers, _that_ is for certain," Jane muttered.

Hermione chuckled. "Come, I've prepared you some private quarters here at the temple. You and Thor are welcome to make yourselves at home."

"You actually _live_ in a temple?" Jane asked, amazed.

"It's easier to call it a temple than say 'that place we live in that looks like the Temple of Kukulcan but is really just a goblin-built replica complete with ample living space on the inside'."

Jane stared at Hermione.

Hermione grinned at her. "You could call it the goblin Chichen Itza, but I still prefer just calling it the temple."

Jane smiled at her. "I'll give you that."

"I like to call it _home_ ," Loki said with a rather serpentine smile. He wiggled his head and neck back and forth at Hermione and winked, causing his wife to blush profusely.

* * *

Thor slipped into the bath, his arm slipping around Jane, who was still feeling a bit of shock and awe. For once, she didn't shy away from his touch, and instead snuggled up against him, letting the hot water take away all their stresses. Having at least _found_ Dr Selvig had put Jane in a much better mood, but she had confessed that he had seen something that had unsettled him— some truth he had not been ready for, and unlike Jane and Darcy, who had each other to pull together while being inundated with new information, he had retreated deep within his own mind.

What that truth might be, no one had a clue. If Selvig himself even knew, he wasn't talking about it, at least not in any way that anyone could discern. Darcy was absolutely convinced that Selvig had some higher truth locked up inside his head, but Jane was convinced that _EVERYTHING_ was locked up inside his head— like how to dress himself in clothes and not invisible threads before running off and inflicting his nudity on the unwary public.

To top off all the drama, some military organisation was attempting to get a lock on them, so Jane believed that hiding out in a temple in the middle of no-one-knows-where in the heart of London was probably considerably safer than trying to fly back home to New Mexico. Thor wasn't exactly an easy man to hide. He towered over everyone even when he was slouching. His bright blond hair was like a beacon of light within a sea of browns and dark blondes. He spoke with the kind of voice that was clearly used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted, even when he had no real idea exactly what it _was_ that he wanted. He bellowed his gratification over a meal or drink by breaking eating utensils and cups. He was embarrassingly loud and obnoxious, yet he was so painfully awkward at times and even somewhat shy when it came to learning new things. She found him terribly endearing, and yet that made her a little uncomfortable. One moment she just wanted him out of her life so things could get back to normal and the next she couldn't imagine life without him.

He was so… aggravating.

And yet—

His touch made her want to roll into him and feel him _everywhere_. She wanted to kiss him until she couldn't breathe. She—

Jane flushed bright red. According to him, he was a god. Yet he had no powers to speak of short of turning her life upside down. His brother, on the other hand, seemed to have power well at hand. The way he flirted with his wife— as if she wasn't his but he wanted her to be— was strangely human.

Part of her tried to remind her that many animals flirted. It wasn't _solely_ a human thing. Why would Asgardian gods be any different?

Gods.

Honest-to-goodness _**GODS.**_

Jane tried to shove her attraction into a box and hide it away and look at Thor clinically, almost like a little lost puppy, but it wasn't quite working for her.

Thor, son of Odin. Odin, the All-Father of the Norse Pantheon—

Loki, the God of Mischief.

Living. Breathing. Reach out and _touch_ them—

Apparently, all was not peaceful in the lands of the gods any more than they were on Earth. Odin had kicked his younger son out to learn humility. Then, he'd kicked his elder son out to learn the same lesson. Humility was apparently a school of hard knocks as far as Asgardians were concerned. You either got the shit beat out of you and learned "Oh hey, I bow to you" or you were so arrogant due to your impressive level of skill that you needed a good shove to a more primitive world to remember _why_ you were supposed to be better. Or, she supposed, be like Loki where your temper caused you to destroy things so much that father got sick of you breaking things…

Loki was quite the handful of drama all on his own.

Thor had come to realise his brother had been adopted— and despite there being nothing wrong with adoption per se, he had been an adopted frost giant, and frost giants were, as she had just learned, the age-old enemies of Asgard. Yet, the depth of Thor's love for his brother had somehow transcended instinctual, cultural, and societal brainwashing to hate on sight, which she thought was a _very_ impressive thing.

Loki didn't exactly look like his brother in any way, but she didn't see the frost giant. Giant implied, well, massive size. Yes, he and Thor were both larger than life, but standing side-by-side, Loki was quite a bit smaller than Thor. Then again, Loki was also a gargantuan feathered, flying serpent of, erm, truly godly proportions. Again— it all came down to _gods_.

On the other hand, Hermione had said she had been quite human, if a _magical_ human, until so very recently. She still identified with that part of herself, despite it all. Despite being an enormous, radiant being of the sun that showered divine blessings down on the innocent and the worthy like the healing hand of the Christian Christ.

Jane found, if she shoved _that_ rather odd bit truth out of the way, Hermione was surprisingly easy to talk to. Hermione had generously "made" some rooms for her and Thor, and she'd even given them both separate bedrooms and private baths as well as the shared hot tub. She spoke of it like it was really nothing, and when Jane had protested, the younger woman had just shaken her head and dismissed it.

"I assure you, there is plenty of room here," she had said. "More than we could ever possibly use, in fact. Unless you, too, prove to be a quetzalcoatl because I would certainly need to accommodate for that."

Jane had assured her she was most definitely _not_ a gargantuan flying snake.

Hermione had given her a sly, mischievous smile. "I didn't think so _either_ , once."

Jane, however, was pretty much positive that such a development was not in the cards for herself. She had had no dreams whatsoever of being a gigantic flying snake. She had not had strange omens of who she was to be with, and they had definitely _not_ included someone tall, blond, and Nordic.

Hermione had not presumed anything with regard to the making of their new quarters. She had not given them one bed or anything that would have hinted at their being a couple. They were simply sharing a very large suite, almost like flatmates— at least until she had realised he was very interested indeed in her. More than just the simple proclaiming of her being his woman, good gracious, where and how would she—

Jane flushed an even deeper red, and pretended to sink under the water to enjoy the water, just out of reach of his even warmer, strong, utterly attractive— oh _**god**_.

There was a dark-furred platypus-looking creature staring at her from the side of the hot tub. It groomed its fur absently, making an odd chittering sound. It pulled a tiny vial of something out of its— pouch?— along with a small piece of parchment.

She peered down at the writing. Compact, almost elegant writing— perhaps made by using an old-fashioned fountain pen or even a quill. Why would anyone write with a quill when a pen was so much easier? The writing stood out against the parchment, the blackest of black against the pale golden shade that made up the surface.

_Three droplets under the tongue will provide no less sensation of pleasure without the pain. Do not use more than three. I repeat, in case you are leaking grey matter from your ears, do not use more than three. A suitable dropper has been provided. You are quite welcome._

_DO NOT USE MORE THAN THREE._

_P.S. Best to use it now because the effects are quite prolonged, and later you may find yourself unable to use said dropper effectively without buggering it up._

_P.P.S. Suitable silencing charms have already been provided you. My daughter may take you at your word that you are not ready to take to each other like Nifflers on a treasure horde, but I prefer to be assured of a good night's slumber rather than merely wishing I could sleep._

_P.P.P.S. THREE DROPS ONLY!_

The little creature handed her a delicate crystalline dropper and promptly vanished in a startling blur of motion.

Jane suddenly found herself blushing profusely. Hermione's father was not the warm and caring sort she expected as being the parent of someone so sweet as Hermione. He had enquired as to precisely what she was a doctor of, and she had explained she held a doctorate in astrophysics. He had given her an arched eyebrow that seemed to say, "is that _all_?"

He wore robes with a striking resemblance to that of a priest's habit, black as pitch, save for the small splash of white at his throat. Come to think of it, that, too, looked rather like a priest's clerical collar. The robes were much like Hermione's, but while Hermione had somehow made black seem like warm, even welcoming colour, her father, Severus, made it look like pure intimidation had somehow been woven into clothing.

"Father," Hermione had greeted him joyfully, flowing into him like a bright young bird that had been swallowed up by the night sky. No hesitation at all. No lack of warmth marked Hermione's actions. This man— _Severus—_ obviously had the woman's total and complete trust.

He had swallowed her up in an obviously loving embrace, pressing his prominent nose into her mane of mingled hair and feathers. His dark, fathomless eyes had then stared into her, and she had felt like she was going through a scanner at the airport, being searched for dangerous weapons or illegal plants, foods, or any other random variety of contraband.

Even Loki had bowed his head to this man, this Severus, and Thor had likely picked up on it for he had followed his brother's example and done the same. Only _she_ had not— having had no reason of her own to display such deference, especially upon a first meeting. Whether he had cared about that or not, Jane hadn't the slightest clue, but it was clear that this man was regarded as far more than just some magical elder to Hermione. More than just a father by birth. This man had earned her respect as well as her love, and Jane was the first to admit that you didn't _always_ have automatic love and/or respect for someone who had contributed his or her DNA to your conception.

Jane stared at the tiny vial. Hermione _trusted_ him. He obviously meant it to help her, implying that it would help with, ahem… any issues stemming from her justifiable trepidation with regard to her sexual attraction to such a prime specimen of Asgardian manhood as Thor Odinson.

A little thought tugged at her. Hermione _obviously_ didn't have any such issues with Loki— and there were five eggs in the upstairs to attest to _that_. How did that work, exactly? Did they— Oh god, why was thinking about _**THAT?!**_

She quickly unstoppered the vial and filled the small dropper. Hermione trusted him. It certainly wasn't going to kill her. She took a deep breath and tilted her head back.

One.

Two.

Three.

Thor's warm arm slid around her waist. "Jane? Are you alright?"

_Whoops._

Oh, _fuck_. Was that five or _ten_ extra drops? She struggled to put the vial cap back on, then turned her head slightly to look up at Thor.

"Just, um… powdering my nose."

"In a hot tub?" Thor frowned.

_Good one, Jane. How lame can you possibly_ _**be?** _

Thor gazed down at her, seeming more than a little concerned. Jane wrapped her arms around him, pressing her head against his broad chest, listening to his heart. There was no strange heartbeat, a hint of double hearts, or anything else that screamed _alien_ about him. It was just a perfectly normal heartbeat. Other than the fact that it seemed to be speeding up significantly, rather like her own.

Maybe he really _was_ just a man under all that godly packaging— not that she didn't appreciate some of that truly gorgeous packaging. But if he _was…_ then maybe he would be able to connect to her too.

She rubbed her skin slowly against his, savouring the incredibly male feel and scent of him, and this time when his body stirred against her, she didn't immediately flee screaming for the hills. She ran her hands over his chest, up his neck into his long blond hair, and then slid her fingers up to his perfectly defined cheekbones.

His heartbeat was going faster and faster, and she could feel her own doing much the same.

" _I am not your woman!"_ she had always protested.

" _But would you like to be?"_ Loki had asked quite knowingly, boring into her with a gaze that seemed both ice and fire combined.

"Thor?"

"My Jane?" he rumbled softly.

 _His_ Jane. Yes. She really liked the sound of that. Despite her many and frequent protests to the contrary, she really _did_ want to be his.

"I—really, really like you," Jane admitted almost abashedly, her face turning a fine shade of red.

"Jane, are you well? Do you wish me to ask Lady Hermione if—"

"I'm fine, Thor, I promise. I just," Jane struggled to find words. "I'm tired of running away from what could be, thinking only of what might _not_ be."

Thor seemed to chew on that for awhile. "Not that I do not appreciate you displaying a little more confidence in me, and more openness to what exists between us, my Jane, but—"

Jane silenced him with a fierce kiss, and Thor staggered, completely caught off guard for a moment. Then he found himself wrapping his own arms around her as his eyes widened with her rather abrupt change in tactics, especially after she had always denied even the slightest acknowledgment of any conscious desire she might be feel for him. While Thor had read a great many unconscious signals that she didn't to be aware that she'd been displaying, they never seemed to quite match up into something he could make sense of.

Her body language had always said "hold me close" while her arms continually pushed him away and kept him at what she apparently felt was a safe distance. It was all very confusing. Asgardian women were very clear on what they wanted. One night. However many nights. Long term or just the _possibility_ of something long term. He had never once bed a woman not knowing just what it was that they wanted— until he had met Jane and found himself at a complete loss as to how to handle her. He had wanted her from the moment he'd first laid eyes on her, but she had always pushed him away. Now that she was (oh _**gods**_ that felt good!) finally here in his arms, he struggled to determine if this was Jane or merely someone that looked very much like Jane.

Oh, gods, was this actually somehow Loki's doing?! He was totally going to _**MURDER**_ his brother! No… time for some reason to set in, he realised. Loki would _**never**_ do that to him. Or… oh _**gods**_ _…_ most definitely not _**that**_.

"Jane?" Thor finally managed to say, groaning loudly as Jane nibbled on the lobe of his ear, her lush body pressed enticingly to his. "Are you quite _certain_ that this is what you want? "I would not wish you to… regret anything in the morning."

Jane looked into his eyes, suddenly breathless. "I want you. I've _always_ wanted you. Reason tells me that you could disappear the moment you find whatever might find you back into your father's favour."

"Jane—" Thor said firmly. "If this is what you truly want, nothing and no one will ever keep me from your arms."

"You said your father wishes to you to become king," Jane said quietly. "Kings have certain... obligations."

Thor sighed. "I was in line to become king, yes," he admitted. "I've waited for some sign, something that would feel _right_. But Jane, truly, I have never wanted anything more than a long, fulfilling relationship with you."

"Thor."

"Yes, Jane?"

"Please shut up and take me. Right here, right now. Do you want me?"

Thor twitched in a few interesting places, some rather more obvious than others. "Need you even _**ask?**_ "

As Thor moved over her, Jane's arms flailed out even as he caught her. Her body arched against his as he fastened onto her neck, and she splashed. The small crystal vial that had been delivered to their rooms teetered off the edge of the hot tub and dropped into the pool. The vial thumped into the bottom, the loose cork stopper popping open to release the violet liquid within, infusing the entire hot tub with the highly-potent contents.

Neither Thor nor Jane even noticed as they proceeded to focus the entirety of their attention on thoroughly worshipping the other's body.

* * *

**Thump. Thump.**

**Thud.**

**Thumpity-thump-thump.**

**Thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump…**

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. "I _warned_ her. Only three drops. Three. Not five, eleven, thirty-three, or the whole sodding _vial_."

Loki leaned over and kissed his wife lingeringly on the temple. "Somehow, I do not think that Jane, and certainly not my dear brother of the endless libido, are really minding all that much at the moment."

"Nor shall they for the next week, if they overdosed as much as I suspect they did."

"What was _in_ that vial, Severus?" Loki asked, his crystalline eyes alight with interest.

"Muscle relaxant with a touch of calming draught, suitably adjusted for Muggles," Severus said as he doctored his cup of tea to his liking.

"You emphasised repeatedly that she only take three drops, why?" Loki asked with curiosity.

Severus cleared his throat delicately. "Should a person overindulge, whether by accident or design, it will inevitably cause the overproduction of certain bodily secretions. If they should heedlessly cast all control into the wind and take more than, say, three droppers full, it will act as a—" Severus pressed his lips together and grasped the bridge of his nose tightly, shaking his head.

"Give them the inclinations of two horny Nifflers on top of a treasure heap, with the fertility level to match," Hermione finished with no little amusement. "Provided they are in the mood to begin with."

A thoroughly wicked smile spread across Loki's face, rather like ink spilling across a fresh roll of parchment. "Is that potion—"

"No," Severus stated firmly. "That potion does not encourage one to do anything they do not already wish to do. It is not an aphrodisiac, nor does it render the user more suggestible in any way, shape, or form. It simply relaxes the mind and body enough to make the experience more pleasurable by preventing any pain that might result from… certain activities. Or even very frequent activities. I neither make nor approve the use of any potions that force one to do anything against their will by taking away their self control."

Loki smiled wickedly. "Perhaps I should personally examine this potion of yours. For purely investigative purposes and the ongoing pursuit of knowledge, of course."

"No," Severus said with a sniff, "I am _quite_ certain that neither you nor my daughter require that particular potion for any such purpose."

Hermione blushed quite a lovely shade of pink.

A little purple book with gold spots hopped onto the counter with a rose between its teeth. It hummed at Hermione, a tiny red heart appearing on its cover.

"Awwww," Hermione cooed. "You're _so_ adorable. Thank you!"

She took the rose and cuddled the little book and put him on her shoulder, and he dove into her mane of hair with a happy squeak. "Poor Heliotrope. He's been locked out of their rooms for the last few days."

"Hopefully they at least ate the food you sent them," Loki snorted in clear amusement.

"I took care to add vitamins and concentrated nutritive potions to it to make certain they don't starve to death as they attempt to shag themselves into oblivion," Hermione commented cheekily.

"Daughter."

"Sorry, father. Indulge in frequent bouts of vigorous fornication, then?"

Severus sighed deeply and went back to reading the Quibbler, which had, strangely, become far more popular than the Prophet following Rita Skeeter's embarrassing fall from the height of her former popularity.

"Whooooo."

A blur of feathers marked the arrival of a postal owl, and it landed on a nearby owl-receiving perch, one of which they had set up in every room in the temple.

"Hrm. Well, that's not one of the Gringott's owls," Hermione commented, giving the owl an owl nut and gently stroking the feathers on its chest before removing an official-looking scroll.

"So who wants to shower you with bribes this time?" Severus asked, smirking.

" _ **Father!"**_

Severus peered over his copy of the Quibbler at her. "Bribes, gifts, heartfelt pleas for your divine favour, whatever."

Hermione blew a pesky feather out of her face, rolling her eyes at him. "Looks like the Hogwarts Board of Governors wants to discuss some sort of "important new development" with my husband and I."

"They want you to nest on top of the Astronomy Tower?"

" _ **Father!"**_

"Well, it's not like they can offer you anything at this point that the goblins have not already given you and more besides."

"True," Hermione agreed, "but I really don't want Hogwarts to suffer. Well, not the students and faculty at least, just because the Board couldn't find it within themselves to see past their stringent rules, even for a rather unique situation. But should I choose to not accept whatever it is that they might offer, they can at least still be seen as trying to improve matters between us."

"They certainly _are_ trying."

Hermione snorted a laugh. "Yes. Quite."

"Well, I will be in my dungeon quarters should you wish to put in an official appearance," Severus said. "I am, if anything, glad that I no longer have to sleep in that chilly, damp hell-hole any longer, but they don't need to actually _know_ that."

Hermione hugged her father hard, causing him to grunt in mild surprise. "You're so very Slytherin, my father."

"I should hope so," Severus said with a sniff, flipping the page. "Do _try_ not to set anything on fire in the boardroom. Or the old man. It would smell like burnt hair and lemons for _weeks_."

" _ **Father!"**_

Loki kissed her forehead and smiled as he offered her his arm. "I _love_ your father!"

Hermione slumped. "Now, I need someone on _my_ side."

Loki pouted, sticking out a quivering bottom lip. "I am always on your side, my love."

Severus waved his hand dismissively, shooing them away. "I am always looking out for you, daughter, even when you believe that I am not."

Hermione leaned down and sweetly kissed her father on the cheek. "I really love you, father," she said warmly.

"So you keep telling me," Severus muttered, turning his cheek.

Hermione threw her hands around him and hugged him tightly. She kissed his temple and then took Loki's arm. "Let's go and see what they want." She and Loki disappeared in a blur of feathers and scales, the sound of their combined songs echoing through the very bowels of Gringott's.

Severus turned the page, the barest hint of a smile curving his lips. "I love you too, daughter."

* * *

Jane slipped a piece of parchment under the door to Severus' chambers with a really big and quite literal _**"THANK YOU!"**_ written upon it. She had no idea what day it was or even if it was still the same _week_ , but she was willing to write a signed confession admitting it had the best few days of her entire _life_.

A soft rustling caught her attention as she came into the kitchen, and a familiar purple book bounced up and down on the counter with a pink tulip clenched between his teeth.

"Aww," Jane held open her hands and the little book snuggled into them. Heliotrope gave her a big fuzzy heart on his cover and cooed affectionately at her.

"I'm really sorry, little guy," Jane told it. "Seems I've been, uh, a little distracted of late. Forgive me?"

Heliotrope eyed her somewhat suspiciously, but gave her a bookish shrug. Gold letters shimmered across his cover: Communication is Golden.

Jane slumped. She was a book neglecter. "Busted." She hugged the little book and carried him with her.

A gaggle of tiny spotted books bounced by, chasing after a group of larger books. She stared a little, still a little amazed by these things that shouldn't exist, at least according to her scientific astrophysicist brain. That part of her mind was starting to protest to the unscheduled expansion of what was possible, what was normal, and was was… provable.

Sentient books capable of procreation? The evidence was right there, yet when she attempted to figure out how she might go about proving it to someone else (who hadn't seen what she had) she just couldn't work out how to do it.

Jane felt the tickle and nibble of Heliotrope on her neck, and the little book gave her a pasty lick of affection. She smiled, snuggling against him. His soft, thrumming purr seemed to whisk all of her worries away. A plentiful breakfast, lunch, and dinner all sat waiting for herself and Thor on the counter along with a parchment card propped up next to the trays, which said: Place your hand over the tray, and the stasis charm will drop so you can eat it. Jane smiled at Hermione's kind consideration. They had been so wonderfully considerate in making sure that she and her lover had ample food and drink for the past— however long it had been.

It seemed that every time they had started to recover to the point where they felt about to come out and be social, they'd end up taking a soak in the hot tub and one thing would lead to another… over and over again. This morning though, she had elected to skip the soak and gone directly to the shower. Now, finally, she was feeling less like an extremely horny rabbit and more like the usual, far more rational Jane Foster— or, at least, she hoped she was.

By the time she decided that her breakfast was a little too light, and she _really_ wanted to skip lunch and dive directly into the sumptuous roast dinner that had been provided, a freshly-showered Thor had joined her at the counter. They divvied up the food and ate their fill silently, savouring the taste of their food for once in what seemed like forever. Meanwhile, a large gathering of booklets were lining up on the counter, looking as though they really, _really_ , wanted a bite of Thor's medium-rare roast beef.

Thor eyed the books somewhat suspiciously. "Is food even healthy for— parchment?"

One enthusiastic book leapt off the counter—

**SNAP!**

The beef on the end of his fork disappeared, and the happy booklet scurried off, emitting squeaks of victory.

Thor frowned. "This is a _very_ odd house."

"Says the _god…_ " Jane said a bit dubiously.

"I guarantee you that, in Ásgarðr, our books do not... eat beef. Or anything else, for that matter."

"I'm sure you have something there that boggles the mind to us just as much as these books boggle you," Jane speculated.

"We do have flesh-eating fountain fish that belch musical appreciation when fed. But they do not boggle, they _terrify_ ," Thor muttered.

"Oh, now that's _so_ much better," Jane snarked, giving him the eye.

Thor ate the rest of his roast dinner with obvious relish, gingerly feeding booklets in-between bites.

Jane realised she was being stared at— by a larger group of "older" books. One was eyeing her forkful of caesar salad with what could only be described as salad envy. She held out her fork, and Grim's tongue shot out, wrapped around the leaves like a chameleon's tongue on a bug, and dragged the salad greens back into his mouth with a clack.

_**PurrrRRrRRRrrr.** _

Grim rubbed up against her sleeve affectionately and bounced away.

The couple silently ate their dinner while feeding the hungry books and booklets.

They both looked up at the same time as one of the shorter, pointy eared creatures— Jane vaguely remembered they had been called goblins— stood at the door. He had a glassy, stunned look about his face as he swayed slightly back and forth. Jane's neck tingled as the fine hairs there stood on end. Something definitely wasn't right. Thor was in front of her in but a blink of an eye, standing between her and this looming, yet unseen threat.

A tall, pale-skinned man stepped out from behind the glassy-eyed goblin. Platinum blond hair fell to the waist as he entered. An ebony cane entered before him, blazing the path with a silver snake's head. His other hand curled around the neck of a pale creature with huge saucer eyes, large ears, and a— pillowcase for clothes. He thrust the creature in front of him.

"Is this the place, you miserable cur?"

"Yes, master! Yes! This is the place Master Draco's letter came from!"

The man sneered, his cruel expression spreading across his patrician high cheekbones. "Good. I _do_ so enjoy a surprise party."

Thor ran forward, and the man pointed at him with a long, slender wand. _"Petrificus Totalus."_

Thor fell backwards, but out of sheer force of will, he was trying to shake it off.

"Ah, ah, ah," the man tutted derisively. "Civilised behaviour requires a proper introduction. You were not expected. No matter. I am Lucius. You, my rather Scandinavian-looking blond friend, are completely immaterial." He then pointed his wand at a terrified, frozen Jane. "It seems I cannot escape the hordes of vermin. No matter _how_ much I try."

Lucius glided over towards Jane and wrapped his gloved hand around Jane's slender neck. "Where are the eggs, hrm?" Lucius slowly ran a gloved finger down a shaking Jane's cheek. "Such a _pretty_ little Muggle whore."

"Go fuck yourself," Jane hissed. She clamped her hands around his wrist and used it to pull herself up and slam her foot between Lucius' legs.

A livid Thor strained and fought fiercely against the magic that held him, his arm coming loose.

Lucius suddenly seemed to realise that there was something he might've missed. He smiled, throwing Jane hard against the opposite wall. " _Incarcerus_." He walked over to Thor, peering down at him. "Where are the eggs, Muggle sow?"

He stared at Jane as he pointed his wand down at Thor.

Jane glared daggers of pure hatred toward Lucius.

"Hrm," Lucius said, shaking his head mock-sadly. _"Crucio."_

Thor screamed out in agony, his entire body lifting up off the ground as he convulsed wildly.

"Ah," Lucius breathed, a sigh of contentment signalled the smile that should not belong on one's face after torturing someone. Unless, perhaps, he was a textbook sociopath. "I can do this _allllll_ day long, girl. Where are the eggs that my worthless traitor of a son believes to hold his unborn mutant nephews and nieces?"

"Get. Bent," Jane hissed. "You fucking piece of shit."

Lucius flicked his wand, and Jane choked as her mouth suddenly filled up with soap suds. "Now is _that_ any way to speak to your betters?"

Thor strained against the magic with every last bit of his formidable strength. _ **"I'll have your head, you bastard son of a Helheim whore!"**_

Lucius frowned at Thor, seemingly pondering this rather strange turn of phrase. He shrugged. _"Crucio,"_ he said, almost boredly.

Thor screamed again, his body thrashing despite the restraints.

Lucius hit her lover with the torturous spell again and again, and Jane screamed for Lucius to stop.

"Tell me where those eggs are!" Lucius demanded. _**"NOW!"**_

Suddenly, a blur of purple and gold whooshed off of Jane's shoulder and clamped itself onto Lucius' nose. The wizard cried out in shock and surprise, clawing frantically at his own face. He tore the protective little booklet off of his nose, blood dripping from a multitude of cuts. He smashed the book against the wall. Once, twice, and again.

**SLAM.**

**SLAM.**

**CRACK!**

The book's bindings tore, pages fell to the floor like rain, but the little book simply refused to give up. It clamped onto his hand, ferociously defending his beloved Lady Jane from any and all foes.

**SLAM.**

Lucius pointed his wand at the bundle of fur, ferocity, and parchment. _"Diffindo!"_

Heliotrope gave a terrified squeal of agony as his bindings were severed, his covers sliced into confetti from top to bottom. The little book fell to the floor, twitching, and Lucius stomped it viciously with his boot. He wiped his bloody face with his equally bloody hand, flicking droplets of his lifeblood over the stone wall and floor. The remains of poor little Heliotrope gave one last shudder, and then he was still.

Jane was in tears, screaming, crying, sobbing the foulest of curses at Lucius.

**Thrum.**

**Thruuum.**

Pulses of energy seemed to rumble through the temple and the surrounding jungle habitat.

Light flashed, and the sky outside seemed to have turned very, very dark, very, very quickly.

Lucius swiftly dodged as something large and shiny whooshed by, quite alarmingly close to his head. He recovered, glaring at Jane as if he had perhaps missed the fact that she was magical. Perhaps, she was yet another Mudblood whore, after all. But Jane glared at him with all the depth of hatred that a loving mother could bestow onto someone who had just hurt her babies.

_**CRACK!** _

Lucius went flying backwards as something slammed into his sternum with stunning force and threw him headlong out of the temple and taking out half the wall right along with him.

"I've had more than enough of you, foul spell-flinger," Thor stormed out of the temple, his armor having found him at long last as Mjölnir left his hand to repeatedly smack Lucius in the head, chest and arm before coming to a final, agonising conclusion as it struck him directly in the groin, making the wizard groan piteously and sink to his knees.

Thor stood over him, Mjölnir raised high in his fist. "You have done harm to me, sorceror," he said lowly. "You have caused me pain, but that is just the thing done in the midst of war. But you have also harmed and spoken ill of a lady. That is a crime. You have hurt and killed an innocent creature who did defend her," Thor said, his eyes growing dark. "And you made my lady _cry_. You deserve nothing less than a slow, painful _**death**_ **.** "

Mjölnir shined brightly as he brought it down—

**Badump.**

**DUMP!**

**THUMP!**

**Thadump!**

**RAWRRRR!**

**Chomp!**

**CHOMP!**

**Crunch.**

**RAWWWWWR!**

Countless numbers of books piled on top of Lucius, large and small, all of them wanting their pound of bloodied flesh. Lucius' screams of terror and agony were muffled slightly as they bowled him over, bit him savagely in every possible place, and tore into his pale flesh with ferocious abandon. He went tumbling down the temple stairs, books chasing after him and clinging onto him.

Thor stood, frozen in place, Mjölnir still clutched tightly in his hand. His bright blue eyes fixed upon the scene before him— horror and admiration of the books' cleverly vicious battle tactics combined into something else entirely. Thor was truly impressed. Those books might be able to teach even the Warriors Three a trick or two.

Jane rushed up behind him, panting and brushing shreds of rope off herself. "Thor, what—"

She eyed the books.

She eyed Thor.

Then she eyed Mjölnir.

"You… You really _are_ a god."

* * *

Loki opened his eyes to find himself— in bed.

He blinked, peering around blearily to find himself in the wrong bed. It was his bed back home— home as in Ásgarðr.

Loki shot up straight, the silken sheets falling softly around him. Warm arms pulled him back, and he relaxed.

Hermione was here.

Everything was going to be okay. He lowered his head to bury his face into Hermione's wild mane of hair and feathers, needing the feel of her against him to chase away the disorientation.

Then he saw the bright blond curls—

Loki immediately bolted up out of the bed, flushing with humiliation, horror and shame. He was no two-timer. He was not an unloyal mate! He quickly threw on clothes, mortified that Hermione might come at any moment and see— and see—

"Ah, there you are, my son. I'm glad you are up. Your father wishes to discuss with your upcoming nuptials with Lady Sigyn. Seeing as she has seen fit to bless us with a grandchild, he wishes for the ceremony to be much sooner rather than later."

Loki turned to see his mother, Frigga, dressed as usual in her gossamer silks, regarding him with with the same affection that she always had for him, even amidst the very worst of his behaviour. "Mother?"

Frigga gave him an odd look. "Am I not your mother, Loki?"

Loki pulled her into a fierce embrace, clasping onto her with no small amount of desperate need. "Mother, I cannot _be_ married."

Frigga held his shoulders, staring up into his tortured eyes. "My son, marriage is all you have talked about ever since you came back to us from exile."

Loki stumbled back in shock. _**"What?"**_

Frigga put her hand to his forehead. "I think you still haven't quite recovered from that horrible exile," she said with concern. "I never wanted that for you."

Loki stared into his bed, observing the golden-haired woman sprawled all over it. Her body was flawless perfection. Her skin was perfectly bronzed and looked smooth as silk. Yet, as he stared upon her, he felt absolutely nothing, not even the slightest tug of attraction that would at least suggest that he was a healthy, warm-blooded male of the species. At least, always before, he would have at least some visceral, sexual reaction, but this time, nothing came.

"She means _nothing_ to me," Loki said with a dark scowl that radiated pure distaste. "If she is indeed pregnant, you can be certain that it is not with _my_ seed."

" _ **Loki!"**_ Frigga said, her voice hardening even as her blue eyes went wide with shock. "That is no way to speak of the one you are affianced to!"

"Does she know?"

Frigga blinked. "Know what, my son?"

"Does she know that I am a _monster_?" Loki replied scornfully.

"Loki, you are _not_ a monster," Frigga scolded him.

Loki's eyes took on a dangerous deep crimson hue. "Somehow, I do not believe that she would agree with you."

"Loki, please, stop it," Frigga said, clasping his arm.

But Loki's skin was already changing, taking on a shade of vivid cobalt blue. His skin rippled, intricate markings rising up from his skin like a raised pattern of scars— shimmering with an odd, almost opal-like iridescence.

A horrific, piercing scream filled the room, as Sigyn leapt up from the bed, a golden dagger clutched within her hand. She plunged it directly into Loki's throat, drawing blood as the blade cut deep into his cobalt skin.

" _ **Jötunn!"**_ she seethed. "What have you _**done**_ with my betrothed?"

A low, rumbling vibration of mocking laughter seemed to shake the very air within the room. "Do you not recognise me, lover?" Loki purred cruelly. "Shall I wear another form for you? A mare, perhaps? Or would a wolf be more to your liking? I know. You want—this."

Loki's form was fluid from one shape to another, until cobalt scales and lunar feathers warped and flowed over his deep blue skin. His glowing, white, serpentine tongue flicked out as his hissed. Glowing white wings spread from one side of the room to the other as his massive tail and body thrashed, smashing the room to smithereens.

" _ **Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaassssssssssssssssssssssssssss!"**_ he hissed, bursting free of the room to towering over his terrified mother and even more terrified "betrothed." He pitched back his head and sent out the call— _their_ call, the only call that had ever truly mattered to him.

" _ **Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnh,"**_ he called to her. His wings spread across the skies like clouds opening up over the heavens.

**Thrum.**

**Thrum.**

**THRUM!**

The beats of his powerful wings blew power out from his body, lunar energy bursting through every feather and scale and tearing through—

**FWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSHHH!**

Magical barriers shattered around them like shards of glass, and Loki's body burst free from the magical trap that had ensnared him. His head snapped around as his golden (and righteously brassed-off) mate hissed furiously as she tore herself from her own magical trap, her enormous body thrashing wildly as bricks, wall, and marble crumbled to bits and flew in all directions, piles of debris coming to a crash landing in every corner of the boardroom.

While he had burst free with a grand show of explosive power, she was breaking free with nothing short of furious, molten rage. Her teeth snapped, and tore, long rivulets of venom dripping from her mouth as she came but inches from a board member's face.

**SSSSSSSSSSSSSsssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss!**

She coiled and struck, her body flinging forward as the terrified men frantically cast a volley of offensive spells at her, but the red and green beams deflected off her scales and back onto themselves. Injured, unconscious bodies went flying in all directions, done in by their own desperate actions. Others cowered in front of her, prostrating themselves in front of her and begging for divine mercy as her bright, shining aura burned as brightly as her rage.

Muffled cries and sobbing came from behind one of the broken walls, and Hermione's head snapped around, her golden eyes narrowing in nothing less than pure, burning hatred. Her fangs dripped; her feathers puffed up and out around her head like the frill on a dilophosaurus.

There were women and children hidden in what seemed like— some sort of magical holding cell? Hermione's thrashings had done a number on whatever had held them, and and he leered town at the cluster of terrified people. Her tongue flicked in and out, testing the very air for any hint of treachery.

Hermione hissed, her golden eyes losing their fire as her ire slowly abated. Loki chose that moment to rub up against her, crooning, soothing, and nuzzling her lovingly.

She pulled back, leaving the prisoners to whatever future they might so desire. Prisoners, family, or— Loki really wasn't sure _what_ they really were. Hermione didn't seem to particularly care anymore. Her incandescent rage had finally abated, and she allowed him to calm her with the entwining of his body and soft flicks of his tongue. She snuggled into him, crooning softly. Images of what she had experience flickered across his awareness— pain, loneliness, and death. In that horrible spell, she had been trapped in a world without him, treated as a monster, she had had become the monster, blamed for everything from the weather to the disappearance of children. And in creating a monster, she had become a monster—filled with the ire that had no end.

And, much as he did, she had broken free when rage had mixed with the face of eternal loneliness and despair. While he faced life with woman who could never accept what he was let alone who he was, she had faced a lifetime of calling for the blue serpent that would never come and fear of her had led to a fate worse than death.

Suddenly, Hermione seemed to realised something. She rooted through the fallen bodies, searching.

Loki crooned, trying to calm her, but there was an image in her mind of a tall, blond man with an arrogant sneer and a serpent-headed cane. He helped her look, and found nothing. Hermione's eyes widened and started to glow, and suddenly Loki knew exactly what she was so worried about.

Hermione's tail whipped around his, corkscrewing tightly with his own as her wing slammed into his—

**CRACK!**

Loki suddenly found himself covered from head-to-tailtip in piled treasure with a Niffler perched directly between his eyes. He went a bit cross-eyed trying to focus as the little creature regarded him with a curiously cocked head, obviously unsure of what to think about the situation. The Niffler carefully placed a pearl necklace upon his snout and patted it, then disappeared.

Loki's forked tongue flicked out to dislodge the necklace in question, and it landed in the pile around their eggs.

One. Two. Three. Four… Five.

_Phew._

Mother would be proud to know that he still remembered his basic numbers.

Hermione curled lovingly around their nest, gently crooning to their clutch.

" _ **Hnnnnnnnnnnn."**_

The eggs all thrummed together in unison. _ **"Nnnnnn!"**_

Suddenly, a white-blond fur-covered book with cold, icy blue eyes and an excessive amount of dribbling foam around its snarling maw leapt towards the nearest egg—

… just as Mjölnir landed on top of it with a loud, reverberating **smack.**

The alarmingly rabid-looking book let out a rough, coughing sort of wheeze, having been completely flattened against the stone of the temple, just as Thor and Jane came running up into the nest room from below.

Thor strode up, retrieved Mjölnir and stomped his boot down hard on the offending book. "I take it your appointment was…"

Jane caught up and huffed. "Um, I'm not quite sure who _that_ was, but he seemed to know all about your eggs."

"He wanted them," Thor stated grimly. "Very badly." He put his arm around Jane and pressed his face into her long, dark hair.

"He said his name was… Lucius," Jane recalled. "He had a strange little creature with him. Pale skin, big ears, and a pair of really large, bulbous eyes. It confirmed to him that the temple was the place where Draco's letters had been coming from. Who's 'Draco' … if you don't mind me asking?"

"Draco is the son and only child of one Lucius Abraxas Malfoy," Severus' voice enunciated lowly as he crossed his arms across his chest and scowled down at the former Death Eater turned rabid, frothing book. "Draco is a fine young man and a close friend, while his father was… is… most assuredly, not." He nodded to Thor, who lifted his boot from the flattened book.

Severus picked up the growling book up by the spine, raising an eyebrow as it snapped viciously at his face, wrist, arm, and whatever else happened to be within biting range. The book's almost-white fur stood on end as gobbets of froth flecked over its rabid-looking maw. "Dare I even _ask?_ "

He waved his wand, and a thick, sinewy strand of jungle vine moved to wrap and tie itself around the book's frothy cover, keeping its maw shut.

"Moody suspects that transforming into a book is not something that a mere bite would induce. Something, however, seems to have proven that particular theory wrong."

Jane frowned. "He somehow forced one of the goblins to bring him here. Then cast some sort of spell on me that made me unable to move. Tied me up. He _tortured_ Thor— and— he… he… " Jane choked, fighting back tears. Jane unraveled her blouse, where she had tenderly bundled up the remains of the brave little Heliotrope.

"He defended us. Tore up Lucius' face. He— Lucius— he used some awful, horrible spell, and it shredded him to bits."

Jane's face was very pale and streaked with tears.

Hermione gently nosed the remains of poor Heliotrope with her snout, her tongue flicking in and out as her glowing eyes flickered. Loki nudged Heliotrope's cover too, his breaths ruffling the book's soft fur. Two streams of crystalline tears pooled together from each quetzalcoatl's eyes and down onto the remains of the brave baby book.

" _ **Errrrrhhhhhhhnnnnn,**_ " Hermione hummed.

" _ **Nnnhhhhhrrrrreeeee,**_ " Loki joined her.

**Rustle.**

**Rustle.**

Fibers swiftly knit back together as parchment swirled and mended. Leather healed. Fur fully was restored and made whole as two shining eyes opened wide.

" _ **Skkkiirrr!"**_ Heliotrope bounced about excitedly and gratefully licked the two feathered serpents on the nose, covering their scales with bits and smudges of damp book paste. Golden letters shifted across his spine.

Ancient Healing: A Treatise on the Effects of Quetzalcoatl Tears

Heliotrope shuddered violently.

**Pop!**

A larger Heliotrope bounced into Jane's open arms and purred happily.

Jane burst into tears again, but they were tears of joy this time. She was hugging and kissing the now not- _quite_ -so-little book and Heliotrope soaked up the love and attention, purring madly, and snuggling into her quite happily.

Hermione and Loki shimmered as their bodies returned to their far-more-human size and shape.

Lucius-book growled and struggled to bite, foaming despite his mouth being clamped firmly shut by jungle vines. His struggles were in vain, however, and resulted in his being soundly and repeatedly smacked senseless by a vengeful Mjölnir, then pinned up against the stone once more.

"Brother," Loki purred. "I see you finally managed to retrieve your hammer."

Thor sighed as he watched Mjölnir pummel the white-furred book into the stone as if attempting to render the two into one. "I think my hammer has somehow acquired a few… anger issues."

"Oh, I don't know, brother," Loki said with an endearingly lopsided grin. "Mjölnir looks like he's dealing with said issues quite well."

"I'm not complaining, especially not after what that disgusting excuse for a man did to you," Jane said adamantly, petting and tickling Heliotrope with gentle fingers. "Not to mention what he clearly intended to do with those eggs and what he _did_ do to our little friend here."

Hermione waved her wand, and her Patronus zoomed away, splitting into three parts and flying off in different directions. She then wove her arm around Loki and dragged him over to Severus and hugged both men tightly, wordlessly burying her face into their combined shoulders.

"Father, how did you even know to come back here?"

Severus sighed, patting Hermione on the shoulder. "Someone apparently destroyed the Board's meeting tower. Imbeciles were running about the school and grounds hysterically screaming that the sky was falling. The likely cause was not too difficult to discern, my daughter."

Hermione clung a little tighter. "Oops."

"Hnn," Severus grunted a reply.

* * *

Draco was on the floor, practically drowning in his own mirth, and rolling about the floor, bellowing helplessly in a great fit of nigh-hysterical laughter. "That's what you get, _Father_ , for foolishly trying to threaten Hermione's family!"

Moody was speaking quietly with a group of goblins, all of whom were nodding their heads grimly. Alastor looked utterly disgusted as he held onto a sturdy metal cage containing one snarling, frothing, white-furred, blue-eyed book. Red foiled letters had raised up on the spine of the book to spell out the title: _The Pontificating Pureblood's Guide to Arrogant Arseholery_. Lucius Abraxas Malfoy was listed as the 'proud' author of said book.

"Do try to breathe, Draco," Hermione suggested kindly. "If you up and die of suffocation now, you'll have the shortest enjoyment of the serving of someone's just desserts in the entire history of the Malfoy family."

Draco lay flat on his back and gasped for breath for several seconds before finally letting out a sigh of sweet, blessed relief. He was then mobbed by a pile of happy furry booklets that took great pleasure in cuddling up to him as he lay supine in the middle of the amazingly fluffy rug.

A happy baby booklet bounced up and down on his chest with a goblet of something foamy in its maw.

"Merciful goddess," Draco blessed the little book, sitting up so he could drink the beverage. "Thanks, little one."

Loki's hand quickly brushed across the goblet, and it frosted over, becoming very cold. Draco, however, didn't seem at all fazed by the sudden change and drank it down in a big swig and gave out a content belch of thorough enjoyment. Thor slapped Draco on the back, and the blond wizard went tumbling into the cough. Draco didn't seem even remotely offended as he giggled with renewed amusement, the little golden book with purple spots bouncing up and down on his rear like a hyperactive toddler on a toy trampoline.

"Mother will want a few or a hundred or so like this lot for her own library," Thor said with a speculative look.

"Somehow, I don't think that will be an issue," Loki mused.

"You _seriously_ need to market this stuff through old Tom at the Leaky," Draco said with enthusiasm, practically shoving his face down into the mug to clean it of every last drop.

"I am rather fond of this buttered scotch as well," Thor said with an approving nod.

"Surely you have something far stronger than that up there where the gods dwell?" Draco asked with considerable curiosity.

Loki plucked the goblet from Draco's hand and sniffed it interestedly. His eyes went half-closed as he seemed to savour the lingering scent. Then he quickly gave it back to Draco, a look of pure predatory focus seeping into his bright crystalline eyes.

" _ **Mfmmmmffffph!"**_

Hermione gave a soft cry of surprise as Loki promptly descended upon her mouth, right there in front of Merlin and everyone, a low rumbling growl of uncontained desire escaping his throat.

Hermione looked a bit dizzy when Loki finally released her, sanity eventually coming back in a slow, murky haze. "Draco. what the _hell_ was in that goblet?"

"Iced butterbeer, why?" Draco said confusedly. "It's _fantastic_."

Hermione waved her wand over the goblet and picked it up to sniff it, wafting the scent to her nose as if afraid of what it might do to her. "Huh, just butterbeer."

Draco looked utterly serene, his eyes calculating the possibilities. "I smell a killer marketing opportunity here. We can call it Asgardian Brothers Brewing: Buttered Scotch Liquor. Hrm, wherever will we be able to find two Asgardian brothers to be our branding figureheads?"

"Oh, I suppose we could put out an advertisement in the Proph- _ **MMMFFFF."**_ Hermione found herself being all but absorbed by a gorgeous, highly amorous, cobalt-skinned amoeba. "Or _not_ ," she murmured as she gazed up into the hungry crimson eyes of her mate.

A large, ostentatious-looking European eagle owl abruptly landed on the perch nearby and stuck out his leg in a very obvious gesture.

Severus took the scroll off the owl, barely avoiding getting his hand ripped open by the bird's cruel beak. The owl glared at him hatefully.

"Who pissed in your cuppa?" Severus demanded, scowling at the vicious bird, his lips curving into an impressive sneer.

"This is for you, Draco," Severus said, tossing him the parchment scroll with a snort of derision.

"Bloody hell, _now_ what?" Draco moaned in pure aggravation. The little book on his shoulder sprouted two pointed, tufted ears that perked with curiosity. " Draco covered the book with his hand. "Do _not_ learn bad language from me, little guy."

Draco unfurled the scroll and read, his eyes darting back and forth. Then his shoulders quaked, and he crushed the scroll in his hand. A concerned Thor looked as if he was about to put a consoling hand on the younger man's shoulder, but then Draco suddenly burst into a raucous fit of laughter, tears streaming down his face as he quaked in helpless mirth. _**"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"**_

He threw the scroll in question against the shelves, where the books promptly descended upon it, shredding it into pieces with gusto.

Severus began to eye Draco with some concern as well.

"Astoria's father just broke our engagement," Draco said, holding back tears of laughter just barely, but he couldn't suppress the wide grin that spread across his handsome face. "Apparently, the Greengrasses no longer wish to be associated with my apparently "cursed" family. Somehow— they've already been informed of my father's… current condition."

Severus tilted his head as he thought. "Knowing Lucius, he tied that particular contract to his own magical signature— however, if anything should _interfere_ with said signature, whatever contracts he might have bound to himself would have instantly been broken."

" Why would anyone _do_ that?" Draco wondered aloud. "Why fix it so that contracts break only upon your death or some random unexpected tragedy?"

Severus' face was grim. "If Lucius himself couldn't be there to enjoy it, he didn't want anyone else to have the pleasure. Not even his own child."

"Or his wife, my mother," Draco added grimly. "She won't take this well at _all_. Mother was always keen to keep up our place in society as the family with the most perfect, proper pureblood reputation. Without it, she will surely be— broken."

Hermione placed a comforting hand on Draco's shoulder. "I know she won't want help from me, but is there anything we can do to help _you_ help her?"

Draco shook his head almost sadly. "This is a matter of family honour for my mother," Draco said quietly.

The messenger owl was attempting to peck out one of the booklets' eyes, and the squirming black-furred booklet squeaked frantically in terror. Draco's face darkened in anger, his hand reaching out to snatch the terrified booklet and tuck it safely against himself. Its fur was was a bit ruffled, but the little mini-Grim glomped onto Draco's hand and snuggled against it, purring. He pulled out a bit of parchment, wrote something on it very quickly and hastily tied it to the offending owl's leg. "Now get out of my sight, you nasty feathered bugger," he ordered it, glaring menacingly at the owl in question.

The owl left, but not before hawking up a nasty-looking owl pellet on the floor.

The little booklet sighed in pure relief, snuggling warmly into Draco. Silver lettering appeared on his spine: _Friends Are the Family Your Heart Makes._

Draco smiled fondly at the little booklet, gently rubbing his spine and covers with his index finger. "Pity mother still believes all of that ridiculous pureblood rubbish," Draco said with a small sigh. "I think she'd really enjoy having a few booklets around."

A/N: Draco made a new friend. A book friend. Dawwwwww.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Um…. I blame booklets. And hospitals. And stays in hospitals, dreaming about baby booklets.
> 
> Beta Love: The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01, Commander Shepard

 

—-

* * *

**Chapter 3**

**Nectar of the Gods**

_The moment you have in your heart this extraordinary thing called love and feel the depth, the delight, the ecstasy of it, you will discover that for you the world is transformed. - Jiddu Krishnamurti_

"Hey, mate," Theo said with a concerned look on his face. "She said she needed a little time to process things, not forever."

"Mother never does _any_ thing half-arsed," Draco bit out grimly, running his hands through his now almost-shaggy white-blond hair.

"Where is this holiday cottage anyway?" Theo asked. "Knowing your family, it is probably what others would consider a grand estate."

Draco rubbed his eyes wearily. "It's in a beach town near Morro de São Paulo. We'd go there as a family from time to time to get away from it all. Father had the place custom-built for Mother as his wedding present to her."

Theo whistled in clear appreciation. "Your father really never did things small, did he?"

Draco shrugged. "He was a total bastard, yeah, but he genuinely loved my mother. He loved me too, but he chose to show doing everything in his power to mold me into his idea of the perfect son. I don't think anyone even knows what a perfect _anyone_ is, at least in a pureblood sense."

"My father certainly didn't," Theo agreed fervently. "He never seemed to know when to quit. Even when all of Riddle's supposedly loyal Death Eaters tried to convince the world that their precious dark lord was alive and well, he had to go and throw himself at Aurors to try and _prove_ the Death Eaters were still a very real threat."

"Father's sense of self-preservation was always sufficiently greater than his gall, at least," Draco replied. "No matter what he believed, he only asserted himself when he knew it was safe to do so— or at least when he _thought_ it was."

"Did I ever tell you that Weasel once tried to tell me to get…. Now how exactly did he put that? Ah yes. 'My slimy Slytherin paws off ' _is_ Mione'?" Theo snorted derisively.

"I heard all about that scene from Potter," Draco said, grinning widely. "Even Harry thinks he went and pissed off the wrong wizard that time. I think that's when he first started to realise the Weasel wasn't exactly all there. Well, accept it, anyway."

"He didn't exactly have a big pool of unbiased friends," Theo pointed out. "Not that Slytherin was any better, yeah? We all had issues up until the evidence of the Dark Lord's rise and fall came beat our lot about the head."

"It took Severus pulling me by the ear, shoving my face down into a cauldron and making me actually work _with_ Hermione before I realised she was nothing like what my father wanted me to believe she was. Which was basically some sort of vile, disgusting animal that somehow managed to 'steal' magic that didn't truly belong to her. " Draco rubbed his chin. "Father was right about Severus, though. Severus was always more the dad that I always wished I'd had. Crabbe and Goyle would think I'm completely mental for saying that, though."

" _They_ are the mental ones, mate," Theo reminded him with a knowing look.

Draco laughed. "True. If I'd listened to those two, I'd now be utterly miserable, married to bloody Pansy and have seven blonde-haired, pug-nosed, very high-maintenance little brats with serious bad attitudes."

Theo shuddered. "Not a good mental image at _all_ , mate. I'm trying to enjoy this tea, not choke and drown myself in it."

"Not half as amusing as it was when Blaise ordered Pansy to stop following him around or else he'd take after his mother and _marry_ her _,_ just so she could die of mysterious causes only a week later." Draco winked.

Theo snorted amusedly. "Blaise always knows how to charm the masses with his psycho mother stories. It's a pity he took so long to yank his head out of his arse about Hermione. She's damned good at dealing with scathing sarcasm."

"Considering who her father is, I should say so," Draco replied with a short laugh. "I still think it wasn't Severus who first taught her how to harden her feelings. It was the sodding Weasel."

"Really serves the Weasel right, getting himself turned into a ravenous, man-eating book and ending up being poked and prodded every day in the very bowels of the DoM." Theo said with a truly disturbing glint in his dark eyes. "His mum is all bent out of shape about it, though."

"Should've heard Moody, hah," Draco said, reliving the memory with obvious relish. "'Well, if your son hadn't been such a ruddy book-abusing arse-muncher, he never would haven't have gotten himself envenomated by a dying enchanted book with a grudge!"

"I don't know for sure, but I think her problem is more about losing the Weaselette," Theo said thoughtfully. "The only witch born into the Weasley line in seven generations, I believe. Losing two kids, one right after the other, to… wanton acts of literary abuse? Good thing that vicious Skeeter bitch wasn't around to sink her teeth into _that_ one."

"So what are you going to do about this place since you father willed it to you?"

Draco shook his head. "No idea, mate. This isn't exactly my dream estate, you know? Yeah, I grew up here, and maybe that is why I can't really think of it as now being mine. It is more Mother's and Father's. It always was. I think Father really wanted me to marry Astoria and have lots of kids to fill the empty halls."

Theo raised a brow.

"So, now?" he asked.

"I die a lonely and bitter man," Draco mused, scowling down at the floor.

"Oh come on, Draco," Theo argued. "You're not some old miserly churl on the hill just yet."

"Pft, _yet_."

"You are _such_ a negative Nancy, Draco," Theo said with an aggravated sigh.

* * *

Hermione ran her fingers across Loki's skin, as she slowly rubbed her face against his flawless cobalt chest like a cat. Her loving eyes glowed with a golden shimmer as her skin took on an equally gold sheen. Her touch was tender, light and warm. "Loki?"

"Hrm, my love?"

"I love you." She flopped down, snuggling into him with an arm draped around his chest.

"Those five eggs awaiting an opportunity to sing their way into the world _did_ seem to hint of that distinct possibility," Loki teased gently with a smile, growling into her ear as he kissed her neck.

Hermione moaned, her eyes fluttering shut, enjoying the jolts of heady pleasure his kisses always wrought upon her. She ran her fingers through his mane of long raven hair with matching feathers. "You are still so much a beautiful dream to me , and I often find myself wondering how easily that other nightmare world could've become my reality. A world where I was never loved, one in which I never found you."

Loki pressed his palms against her cheeks. "My Hermione," he said tenderly. "That we found each other at all was a gift beyond price. In truth, any single, miniscule moment in a vast universe of moments could have gone wrong just as easily— but this is a right thing. This is our reality. This is our destiny, our joyous fate. I believe we were always _meant_ to become as one. Those other realities all missed their chances. They failed. But we, my lady wife, did _not_."

"Do I need to send you screaming into the wanton throes of ecstasy in order to prove my point, my dear wife? Shall we add another egg or two to the growing clutch in our nest?" Loki's serpentine tongue flicked out to tickle the very tip of her nose. "It would have to be two, you know. A tiebreaker," he teased as he nuzzled her neck with his lips.

His crimson eyes met her golden ones, and he pressed his forehead to hers. "If it weren't for you, my love, I would never have been able to accept myself. My true selves."

"They are _all_ you, Loki," Hermione whispered. "I felt that I could not betray my beloved blue serpent, my would-be mate. My dream, but that did not mean I did not find you incredibly attractive and desirable, long before I felt free to finally act upon those feelings. Even as my 'bookish' Handsome, I found you utterly irresistible."

Loki smiled serenely and hmmmmed _,_ pressing his lips to hers. "Please allow me to demonstrate the effect you have upon me, my wife,"

"Please," Hermione breathed into his ear, "do."

Loki let a mischievous grin take over his face. "As my queen commands." Loki pulled a mug of frothy beverage out of nowhere and swiftly drank it down in a few seconds. His eyes glowed like twin red suns as he proceeded to explore the strange, velvety softness of the garden moss near the jungle surrounding their temple home, as he gently lay his young wife down upon it.

Hermione certainly wasn't complaining. Not at _all._

* * *

A week later, two more eggs joined the others in the growing nest atop the temple. Two _very_ self-satisfied quetzalcoatls entwined themselves lovingly around each other and the nest filled with their unborn offspring. And while Hermione might not have been to walk properly for a while following the week-long consummation, she found that being able to slither and fly at will was a good cover for the aftereffects of their rather prolonged indulgence in certain pleasurable… activities.

* * *

It wasn't every day that the queen stood before Heimdall to take the Bifröst to Miðgarðr, and Heimdall knew that his queen had had quite enough being separated from both of her sons. Odin, his king, was distant and ponderous, trying to see further than anyone else, but even his vision of the future seemed hazy when it came to Thor and Loki. Thor because they were always too close— Loki, because he had been the favoured son of Frigga.

Heimdall knew the truth, though he kept his own counsel. He had seen Odin take the abandoned babe from the frosty cradle in Jötunheim. But Loki had not been a bad son, no. He had been a perfect son— at least, until he had hit puberty. Everyone knew that eventually everyone went through that, and Asgardians were no different. The difference was in that Loki had never truly been an Asgardian, despite the glamour that made him _look_ like one of them. He was Jötunn. He had been born a son of Jötunheim. That was the biological reality. Emotionally, he wanted the love of his parents: Odin and Frigga. And while Frigga had immediately embraced Loki from day one as her own child, Odin could not seem to connect with Loki, not like he did with Thor. For whatever reason it truly was— Loki had remained the son of Frigga far more intimately than he had with Odin. Heimdall had known that eventually there would be drama.

But Frigga, unlike the All-Father, had demanded to be informed the very moment that her sons became visible again, and today was the first day it had been so. Until then, Loki had only been seen in fishing villages, tormenting the poor sods with pranks in his obvious boredom. And then, one day, he had suddenly disappeared.

Thor had crash landed in some godforsaken desert in a place called New Mexico. There had been much drama and amusement in watching _that_ play out for Heimdall, but then they had flown off to England in the hopes of finding a certain Dr Selvig and saving him from— himself? The good doctor had apparently seen too much or perhaps not enough, and so, unfortunately, his brain had become quite scrambled. Then, on the very day they had located him again, their entire group had become unviewable as well.

Yet today, Loki had unexpectedly reappeared just off the coast of Scotland, flanked by a contingent of centaurs that had followed them in from the coastal forest. Other than the centaurs, Loki appeared to be with only one other person, and—

That other person., a female— _**Gaia's tits!**_

Loki's mouth covered hers in a deep, passionate kiss as his hands gently wove through the woman's long, curled tresses. His skin was a blue as vibrant as the sea. His eyes were like glowing, crimson rubies. Yet she, this lovely, almost petite young woman showed no hint of fear whatsoever in either her face or manner. Her eyes were a warm brown that brightened into a glistening gold. They touched each other often, warmly, and without reservation. Unlike the far more restrictive social boundaries of Ásgarðr, the couple touched often, holding hands, and touching each other's faces with frequent caresses.

Heimdall could see that Loki's power had grown to a truly astounding degree. His control had grown as well. His maturity had grown along with a very stable emotional demeanour. And— was this possible?

Magic itself had bound the two together in only true way that he could see: the mating bond between a lord and their chosen lady, and it was just as powerful and distinctive as the one between Odin and his Lady Frigga. Heimdall's mind could hardly process it. Somehow, Loki had not only managed to come unto his own, but he had clearly embraced his carefully hidden heritage. He had somehow found his one true mate— and they were bound just as tightly and irrevocably as any other pair on Ásgarðr, perhaps even more so.

Little furry books bounced along merrily behind the pair, frolicking around their feet and rolling and playing together in the sand and grass. A few larger books took a moment to nip them in line from time-to-time, but they seemed glued to the pair and didn't wander too far. Sometimes Loki would scoop one up and rub his nose against the little book's cover, and a small but distinctive heart would grow across the cover. Heimdall had never before seen such a strange and remarkable thing, not in all the millennia he had served as the gatekeeper of Ásgarðr.

"Is he okay, Heimdall?" Frigga asked him softly, her bright blue eyes filled with pure motherly concern.

"I think you may be surprised, Lady Frigga, and not in a bad way." Heimdall moved little, having learned the value of a stoic and even stony regard after all the time he had logged in at his current post.

Frigga stood in front of the portal front. Her guards walked up beside her, silent and unquestioning. Theirs was not to question. Their duty was to protect their queen at all costs. As long as they did not do anything foolish like question where she wanted to go or why, she tolerated them as befit the Queen of Ásgarðr.

They were her most trusted, these four. Odin himself could not pull them off of her, not for any reason. They had remained loyally at her side for years uncounted. They probably saw a great deal more than most in what happened within the private lives of the royal family, which meant they had suffered through Thor's desire to frequently test his strength and battle prowess and Loki's magical pranks for their entire careers. However, perhaps that also meant that these few hand-picked guards had also seen Loki in his earliest, non-glamoured days. Could they possibly _know_ that the second son of Ásgarðr's king and queen was actually an undersized Jötunn?

Heimdall figured they would, but Odin _had_ kept the blue-skinned babe carefully sequestered until the lack of exposure to cold kept the babe from looking anything but like a true son of Ásgarðr. There was a small chance they were clueless as Loki himself had recently been.

Heimdall found that he truly hoped that did not prove to be the case. For after seeing how undeniably happy Loki had become since his banishment, he doubted very much if Loki would take any threat to his lady lying down. Loki was entirely too predictable in that which he would fight for. Heimdall knew that once that son of the king and queen had finally found something to truly live for— he would _die_ to try and keep it.

Heimdall moved to plunge his sword into the opening apparatus, and the overwhelming bright light of the Bifröst opened up the path to Miðgarðr. Frigga and her guard walked through and promptly disappeared.

* * *

The moment Frigga arrived, she suddenly found herself being held at arrowpoint. Her guards positioned themselves around her immediately, shields up, putting themselves between her and any hint of danger, as was their task in life.

"Stop!" Loki's voice commanded, a twist of the old mixed in with what was so very new. It was a voice used to being obeyed without question. "I would like to see who would come down from on high to visit an exile when the All-Father himself chose to cast me out."

The gathered centaurs, their bows primed and drawn to release, slowly lowered their weapons, yet never moved their eyes away from their captives for even an instant.

Loki walked forward, placing himself between the unknown visitor and his lady wife. Hermione, curious as a Niffler after a shiny coin, peeked out from behind him, yet seemed to realise if Loki was positioning himself so protectively before her, there was something pretty significant going on.

The gathered books growled and bounced underfoot, unsure as to whether they should attack or stay, deciding at last to remain on watch at their feet, but Grim, Rith, and Violet herded the booklets behind them to prevent them from doing anything rash.

Loki stood tall and proud, his chin tilted up in a ritual show of arrogance. Yet, even so, his skin had turned an even darker shade of cobalt. HIs eyes were a smoldering, glowing ruby. He gathered his magical power around himself in an unmistakable display of strength and prowess, rather like a male lion showing off his mane to his rival to prove it was better far better for said rival to flee than attempt to fight. And, much like how the black-maned lion tended to have the advantage, Loki was endowed with quite an impressive mane of ebony hair and… were those _feathers?_ Said ebony feathers seemed to be mixed with other shimmering shafts of a radiant, moonglow white, presenting quite a stunning picture.

"Prince Loki," the head of the royal guards bowed his head deferentially. They did not stand down, but they did acknowledge him.

A slender, manicured hand pushed the guards to the side. "My son," Frigga said, her delicate chin raised high, tilted with the accustomed grace that her station allowed. Her eyes, however were warm.

_"Mother?"_ Loki whispered, his ruby eyes going very wide in obvious surprise.

"Do I get a hug, my son?" Frigga asked, eyebrows arched just so into her blonde hair. She reached out to him— kind, loving, and ever so much his familiar mother.

Conflict crossed his face. "You _knew_?"

"Your charm was at full potency even as a baby, my son," Frigga said gently. "To which, I was most certainly not immune. I loved you then. I love you now. Is this not what a mother does when she gives her heart and her breast to her child?"

"Why did you never _tell_ me?"

"My husband swore me to secrecy and forbade me ever to tell you," Frigga admitted. "I chose not to fight it, but not for the reason your scowl tells me you are thinking. I did not fight it because I loved you. You were _my_ son. It did not matter to me who actually bore you. You needed me, and I needed you. Odin said the Jötunn that had given you life had set you out as a sacrifice to the frigid ice and cold of the Casket of Ancient WInters. They had cast you out because you were so very small and you were viewed by them as a shame to your father's stature. Odin decided to take you in, unable to see an innocent die, especially after all the death he had witnessed on that one day alone. He always told himself that it was simply to ensure that the Jötunn honoured the peace treaty, but I know that, hidden deep within himself, he truly cared for you. And he still does, but he is far too proud, too proper, too stubborn, too bound by duty to open his heart enough to show that which lies within it, and I think— I _believe_ that that was the true reason he gave you to me. He knew I would never fail you, even when he would again and again."

Frigga looked into her son's crimson eyes, her hand tenderly brushing his cobalt cheek. "But I _did_ fail you. I failed to help you find a sense of peace, when you so desperately needed it. I had no idea why you would suddenly begin destroying things, get so terribly angry— we thought more structure would help, but it only made things worse, and I longed for the son that once came to me with all of his problems and fears. Instead you sank deeper into our Asgardian detachment. And the more you did-"

"The more rage I felt," Loki confirmed quietly.

Frigga nodded. "What changed, my son? Please tell me what brought you the peace we that could not."

Loki slowly wove his arm around Hermione's waist and pulled her to his side to stand beside him as his equal. "This is my lady wife, Hermione," Loki said slowly, staring into his mother's face for a response. "Her song called out to me across the ages. Her very touch stole away the all-consuming anger— the nigh-overwhelming need to destroy. It is what the mighty Asgardians choose to leave behind whenever in public. Royalty are to be seen but never touched unless behind closed doors— and while there I did not crave merely the attentions of some random female companion. I needed far more than what my brother chose to seek out so often. That which I so desperately needed, I have found here with _her…_ my lady wife."

Frigga looked into Loki's face and then Hermione's. She seemed to look them both up and down very carefully, her blue eyes lighting up in obvious pleasure at what she found. "Yours is a true bond. A true _marriage_."

"Yet you are of Miðgarðr," Frigga said with no little wonder. "But you do not look as a child of Miðgarðr, not in entirety. The celestial pathways hang within your very hair— on the both of you. Just as keys hang on a great ring, waiting for doors to open."

"You sound very much like a dear friend of mine, Lady Frigga," Hermione said, bowing her head respectfully, "only a good deal more lucid."

"I have had several thousand years in which to perfect my sense of the here and now and the hidden Realms that most cannot see."

And then Frigga smiled, extending her arms to her invitingly. "Would my new daughter-in-law honour me with an embrace?"

Hermione looked to Loki for a hint as to what she should do, and he smiled and nodded encouragingly. She stepped into Frigga's arms and allowed the elder Asgardian Queen to enfold her into a warm hug.

* * *

Frigga sat on an enormous throne of Niffler treasure as she entertained a virtual horde of baby booklets with her songs and stories. The seven eggs hummed together in response, even the youngest two of the clutch. Even the Nifflers came up to accept her pets, doing her the favour of both gifting her rings and nicking her crown at the same time. Thankfully, the stolen crown didn't go very far, as all the treasure ended up in the same place eventually: piled high atop the temple's apex.

Hermione dozed lazily with Loki, their bodies pretzeled around each other as they relaxed, sunning themselves. Their bodies curled lovingly around their clutch of eggs as well as Frigga's impromptu sitting place. The booklets were bouncing up to bring her various trinkets and other shinies from hairpins to flowers from the surrounding jungle, and Frigga had taken time to get to know every single one, earning her a grand collection of furry little hearts from the equally furry booklets.

Violet, Rith, and Grim snuggled into Hermione's mane of colourful feathers, and seemed quite content to allow their progeny to smother Frigga with affection as they continued to smother Hermione and Loki with theirs. Practice made perfect for the baby booklets, and Frigga certainly wasn't minding that at _all_.

As Thor walked up the temple steps from the outside, he looked but a youth of a few hundred years rather than the grown adult of a thousand plus that he actually was. Mjölnir was downstairs, sitting on the kitchen counter, covered in happy baby booklets, and he was finding it quite ironic that the enchanted hammer could go from pounding the everliving shite out of Lucius-book to serving as such a gentle booklet babysitter. Even more amusing was that the booklets would topple Mjölnir over and drag it around by the strap, moving it from place to place so they could perch on it and cuddle. The hammer, normally so stubborn in who it chose to allow such things, simply went along. Sometimes it would firmly place an edge on a booklet in order to pin it down, keeping it from running off into trouble, and the disappointed, overly curious booklet would sigh and complain but eventually give in to the hammer's sound "advice."

How such things were even possible had opened Thor's mind to another world— another Realm— filled with infinite possibilities. Loki and his mother were not two of such a rare sort anymore. Here, magic was far more common than the admittedly crude might of the sword and dagger. Yet, even here, there was magic to be found within Mjölnir as well— magic he had never seen before, much less considered, until very recently.

The young human wizards, Draco, Theo, and Harry, had each taken their own amusing turn at attempting to move Mjölnir around, with no success whatsoever, only to have a bunch of furry baby booklets topple the hammer over and easily drag it off to another room. His Jane had found considerable amusement in the frustration and woe it caused the youths in question. Thor had laughed as well, but the young wizards just waved their fingers at him and informed him, "At least _we_ can hold our fair share of butterbeer without becoming mentally compromised."

Thor had pointed out that the entire reason it was so good was that it _did_ render him mentally compromised, at least with regards to his Jane. Jane was certainly not complaining. At all. _Ever_.

The only thing Jane had complained about was when, just the other morning, she had suddenly burst out of their bed and his arms to rush out to the lavatory and hurl. She blamed it on the incredibly rich food that Severus had concocted in the kitchen. The man could cook _extremely_ well, that was for sure. Thor was pretty sure he had polished off an entire platter of toasted coconut prawns all by himself. The man had a prickly exterior to be certain, but he cared deeply about his family in a way that showed through many subtle gestures and deeds. He suffered being hugged by Hermione from whatever angle she launched herself at him. He made epic meals without a word being said, smiling ever so slightly when Hermione, his brother, and even Thor himself assisted with the cleanup. Jane would _try_ , but Severus would scowl down his impressive nose at her, saying nothing but causing Jane to quickly flee to cuddle with Heliotrope and countless of his brothers and sisters.

Shortly after Jane's rather loud dash to the toilet, a Niffler arrived with a small vial and a note and placed it on the bedside table and then left— having snatched up Jane's favourite pair of earrings in exchange.

"Since I cannot trust you not to overdose, kindly drink the entire vial. You should then feel rather less apt to continue issuing devout praises in worship of the porcelain god."

It was unsigned, as it always was, but there was no mistaking the man's distinctive handwriting. Who, then, was the porcelain god? Jane had snatched up the vial and downed it shortly after reading the note. No questions, not so much as a hint of hesitation. And they hadn't had any further episodes since.

As Thor reached the top of the temple steps, he placed a large hand on his younger brother's serpentine snout and smiled as his forked tongue flicked out and tickled his skin. His brother's glossy cobalt scales were like polished shields. The huge quetzalcoatl eyed him with lazy curiosity, moving very little. The glistening eggs thrummed in the light, pulsating with pure magic. They had substantially increased in size, having grown to stand almost as tall as a grown man— save the two newest eggs, that were playing catch-up. Yet, even as he knew the time difference, he couldn't help but think the older eggs were singing and whispering to the little ones, encouraging them to speed up their growth, that they might all be ready to hatch at the same time. Just when that would be, however, Thor had _no_ idea.

He did know that he would do absolutely anything in his power to protect them— his brother's unborn quetzalcoatl children. When and how would they emerge? What colours? Would they be able to change their forms instinctively from birth? So many questions had been bandied around the dinner table, and many of their friends had been placing bets.

Amongst their honoured allies, the goblins and the centaurs and the ambassadors from various cultures, visitors came and left under Loki's and Hermione's watchful eyes, they talked, sang, and prayed to the glistening eggs— singing their worship to not only the quetzalcoatls that were there in front of them, but their unborn young as well. Thor could sense how the power seemed to grow and expand with such ritual and devout worship.

While the Asgardian gods existed and grew in power without worship, it became clear that the quetzalcoatls were somewhat different in this way. Loki and Hermione drank in the power of their visitor's faith and strengthened the power of their family and ability to spread their divine influence. And if seeing them in person wasn't enough to sway a nonbeliever, they had considerable power with which to flex.

The goblins had started to craft small satellite islands as guest quarters for the visiting ambassadors, giving them a place to stay after making their, in many cases, _extremely_ long journeys, and the good reputation of the goblin nation was growing just as swiftly as the faith in the new quetzalcoatl family.

South American devotees came and crafted elaborate and ornate ornaments for the quetzalcoatl mane, feather shafts, and body. They painted the scales with shimmering markings as in the days of old, imprinting the ancient maps of the stars upon their scales. They even decorated the booklets with golden leaf, making their covers shine just like the manes of their master and mistress. Thor had little doubt the painted markings were protective in nature— a desire to keep their cherished feathered serpents safe, but they were also like maps, detailing both what had once been and what _could_ be possible in both the distant and not-too-distant future.

Perhaps, even a greater honour was that Loki and Hermione permitted them to paint the eggs as well, and the eggs appeared to greatly appreciate the consideration. They sang to the painters, and the painters sang back, and Thor couldn't help but think that something significant was going on— something profound. It felt… extraordinarily powerful.

"What _is_ this, brother?" Thor asked quietly, his thumb rubbing gently at the quetzalcoatl's nose scales.

The cobalt serpent tilted his great head and sang. _**"Nnnnnnnh."**_

Then, very clearly inside his mind, Thor heard Loki's distinctive voice. " _Faith."_

Thor's expression now hovered somewhere in-between curiosity and total fascination. "It is an odd sort of strength, brother," Thor said. "It feels _different_. Somehow… dynamic."

Loki eyed his brother with his glowing crimson eyes. " _Feels right. Natural."_

"Why have you not spoken to me in this way before, brother?"

_"I have tried,"_ Loki said patiently. _"Perhaps, you were not yet ready to hear me."_

"Not much could surprise me at this point, brother."

Jane huffed, slightly out of breath, as she climbed up the temple stairs. "Thor… we really need to talk. _Now_."

"Yes, my Jane? What is it?"

Jane stopped, crushing her hands into fists as she rubbed them up and down her trousers nervously. "We're... grrhvamph."

Thor eyed Jane curiously. "We're what? What are you trying to tell me, Jane?"

"We're. I mean, I'm. I mean—"

"Jane."

Jane stared at Thor with pure panic in her wide brown eyes.

"I am here for you, my Jane, just tell me what you need of me."

"I'm pregnant," Jane finally blurted out.

"You're—" Thor stood there, staring back at Jane, utterly dumbstruck.

"Pregnant." Jane stared up at him, clearly terrified.

Thor drew her up into his arms and twirled her around joyously. "You're _**pregnant!**_ That's— That's _**glorious**_ news!" He embraced and kissed Jane enthusiastically, looking deep into her eyes and grinning from ear-to-ear.

"Well, my son," Frigga's unmistakable voice rose above the eggs just before she came into view, stepping out from behind the sliding coils of Hermione's impressive mass. Her glistening scales slid smoothly against Loki's like the mechanism of a gigantic lock as Frigga approached her now-speechless elder son. "Will you introduce your mother to your most illustrious lady wife, hrm? Surely you would not do so scandalous a thing as to grant me grandchildren before marriage, while even your mischievous brother, the notorious rule-breaker, can somehow manage not to do that, my son?"

Thor paled significantly. "Mother. I… uh. This is Lady Jane." Thor thrust Jane in front of him almost like a protective shield, causing Jane to squeal in startled surprise.

Frigga kindly extended a manicured hand, and Jane looked torn in-between kissing it or taking it in her own, or some combination thereof. After a moment's hesitation, Jane gingerly took the hand, almost reverently, as the quetzalcoatls rose high above them, their heads and necks lovingly entwined as they let out a series of soft hisses, which Jane and Thor both strongly suspected to be the serpentine equivalent of laughter.

The eggs sang to their parents, and Hermione and Loki sang back to them, the temple virtually thrumming with their combined power.

_"Busted,"_ the eggs giggled in unison. They each chimed a different note in a bright harmony, and the nest vibrated with their excitement.

_"Keep this up and our eggs will hatch themselves just to embarrass you further,"_ Hermione hummed, hissing lovingly to her eggs.

"Whu— why?" Jane squeaked.

Hermione's radiance beamed outward like the sun. _"Their father is the God of Mischief,"_ she hissed with considerable amusement. _"And I'm the daughter of a textbook Slytherin. Add in a splash of reckless Gryffindor bravado and a shameless inability to discern when their lives might be in danger, and they will hatch into molten lava while thinking that it's a perfectly beautiful day."_

_"Lava?"_

_"What's lava, Mum?"_

_"Does it taste good?"_

_"Does it tickle?"_

_"Can you bathe in it?"_

_"Can you paint with it?"_

_"Does it taste like yummy croutons?"_

"Hush, egglings," Severus' voice crooned as he thumped the eggs with his hands gently.

The eggs thrummed happily.

_"Grandpa, Grandpa!"_

_"Grandpa!"_

_"Love you."_

_"Love!"_

_"Love!"_

_"Sing to us, Grandpa!"_

_"Sing to us, please?"_

Severus's eyebrows furrowed, his face sombre.

The eggs thrummed hopefully.

The dour-looking wizard sighed, sitting down in the middle of the clutch of eggs. "Fine, what do you spoiled egglets want to hear?"

_"The Ballad of the Suneater!"_ they answered, their excited voices chiming in.

"Norse ballads? Truly?" Severus rolled his eyes, shaking his head mock-sadly.

_"Pleaaaaaaase, Grandpa!"_

Severus mumbled, placed his hands on the nearby, smaller eggs, and began to sing. "I sing to you the ancient ballad of the almost-marriage of Lady Freya, Goddess of Ásgarðr, to Thrym, a giant of Jötunheim and how the mighty Thor had to cross-dress and pretend to be the bride in order to get close enough to smash his mighty hammer, Mjölnir, into Thrym's face."

_"Yay!"_

_"Stories!"_

_"Cross-dressing Uncle Thor stories!"_

" _ **THAT**_ story!?" Thor moaned, holding his head and flushing a deep shade of red.

"You crossed-dressed to almost-marry a giant?" Jane gasped.

**"To smash his face!"** Thor yelled, hiding his red face in his hands.

Crack.

Crackle.

Split.

The nearby smaller egg cracked open and a dark-scaled baby serpent broke free, singing her approval of the chosen story-ballad. Her scales were glistening obsidian with rainbow glints, but as light shimmered over her, a deep blue cobalt shone richly underneath. She then had a surge of magic, and a crowned mane of downy feathers wreathed her neck. Her golden eyes stared adoringly into Severus' face.

_"Grandpa!"_ she hissed, curling her scaled body around his neck and flapping her downy wings. _"I'm Raina!"_

Severus' pale hand gently caressed his grand-serpent's head. "Hello, my little scaly love. Welcome to the world."

Hermione's head lowered with Loki's. Their forked tongues flicked gently over their firstborn daughter, who really should have been premature but had somehow managed to not only catch up but hatch before the rest of their offspring.

The other eggs vibrated with a little disappointment.

_"No fair!"_

_"We were supposed to be first!"_

_"Quick learner!"_

_"Takes after Mum!"_

_"Gosh."_

Tap. Tappity-tap-tap. Tap.

_"Want. Out. Of. This. Egg. NOW!"_

_"Nnnnnn!"_ Raina sang happily. _"Grandpa, Grandpa, all mine. All mine!"_

_"No fair!"_

_"No fair!"_

Rattle.

Rattle.

Crack.

Crackle.

SCHLORP!

A rainbow-coloured baby serpent shot up out of the top of the egg and wrapped snugly around Thor's head, knocking him over and sending him tumbling down the steps.

_"Hi, Uncle Thor!_ " the baby serpent hissed directly in his face. _"I'm Itzel!"_

Thor lay sprawled and wheezing on his back.

Loki's tongue flicked lightly over Itzel. _"Excellent aim, my daughter."_

Thor tried to gently pry his highly enthusiastic face-hugging niece off of his face with no success whatsoever. She merely tightened her scales around his nose and neck, wings fluttering, radiating moonbeams of childish love and adoration.

Thor twitched and gave in with a sigh, going totally limp and surrendering to the young serpent's loving embrace of his face. Jane looked on with no little amazement, reaching out a tentative hand in disbelief. The little rainbow-scaled baby unfurled herself from Thor's face and curled around Jane's wrist, slithered up her arm, and stared into Jane's wide brown eyes with her ruby eyes. " _Hallo, Uncle Thor-mate Jane."_

Thor groaned at that interesting new title for the mother of his unborn child. "Jane," he grunted. "Please consent to marry me, lest my mother and all of my nieces and nephews come up with more and more embarrassing titles with which to address you."

The great quetzalcoatls watching from above hummed together in amused approval. Hermione's golden tongue dislodged her second-born daughter from Jane long enough to scent her out and imprint her essence on her tongue and mind.

Shimmering platforms of magic formed between the islands, and a glowing train of supplicants and devotees streamed from the surrounding ambassador islands. All of them carried various colourful and elaborately patterned banners. Some carried bells on staves, jingling them as they walked. Some of them sang mantras. Others blew sacred conches. They all gathered together, a mixing of cultures, all peacefully celebrating together to welcome in the bright new generation.

Slowly, the main representatives from each party— centaurs, goblins, Asian, South American, and more. All of them made their way up the temple steps, bowing respectfully to the great serpents. Loki and Hermione nuzzled each other, moving their coils away to expose their eggs to the audience. Gasps of wonder and praise went through the gathered. They sang their praises and worship and a swirl of power manifested as winding wisps of cosmic energy that joined with the quetzalcoatls and through them, it was shared with the hatched and unhatched inhabitants of their nest.

One dark purple egg rocked violently back and forth on the dias, sending random pieces of treasure tumbling off and a pair of Nifflers scurrying after. The top split with an almost-explosive shatter of pottery-like shell, and the inner, fleshy membrane pulled away. Then a midnight blue head popped out. Two pearl grey eyes looked this way and that, a mane of blue-black downy feathers ringed the serpent's head. Two damp wings pumped wildly, drying the down on them and his mane into perfection. He slid out of the egg, leaving his caul behind, and Hermione and Loki dipped their heads to lick and nuzzle their newly-hatched son.

He radiated his love to his huge parents, beaming in pure joy at having made his way into the world. _"I am Vidar,"_ he said with pride, nosing his parents one by one, his tail rattling and rustling gleefully.

SPLORCH!

A blur of moonstone scales, ruby red eyes, and colour-shifting rainbow feathers pounced him from the nearby egg.

_"Hallo, brother! I am Geir!"_ the enthusiastic brother serpent announced.

The two brothers went tumbling down the temple stairs and one head-glomped one of the South American ambassadors, and the other landed in a startled black centaur's arms.

_"Hi!"_ the brothers greeted their proud parents as the two quetzalcoatl adults dipped their heads and gave their latest budding offspring a proper licking over.

As Frigga's private guard stood protectively around her in the face of so many strangers from various different places. While they watched down the temple stairs, a nearby crack and squishing sound released a blur of gold and green, honey-coloured wings, and green-flecked amber eyes that burst forth from the confines of its shell and happily wrapped itself around Frigga's face.

_"Hi, Nan Frigga!"_ the excited serpent said as he wrapped lovingly around her head. He flapped his honey wings rapidly. _"I'm Naseem! I love you!"_

The startled royal guards looked conflicted between guarding and the precise opposite of guarding, knowing full well that even one single mistake would surely result in their being utterly obliterated by one or both sides. Hermione lowered her head and wrapped her golden tongue around her glomper son, gently prying Naseem off his Nan as she transferred him over to Loki. Loki promptly slurped the excited baby serpent with a distinct hum of fatherly amusement.

_"But! But! Nan!"_ Naseem protested, wriggling wildly and his little wings flapping madly.

"It's okay," Frigga said with a fond smile. "Come to me, little one."

The happy little serpent quickly darted over and re-wrapped himself around Frigga's head lovingly, radiating pure adoration.

As a wizened older man and woman walked up together for a closer look at the newly-hatched babies, they leaned on their chimed staves before making a series of sacred gestures towards both Hermione and Loki, clapping their hands together as they wrapped rune-carved beads around their fingers. The elder quetzalcoatls lowered their heads together, tongues flicking as they gently pressed their noses to each of their supplicants. Plumes of magical faith rose off the couple's group and fed to them, and from them they offered it up to the quetzalcoatls.

_**"Hnnnnnn,"**_ Hermione sang, streams of solar energy flaring off of her scales.

_**"Nnnnnnh,"**_ Loki answered, his lunar energy mixing with hers and forming into a combined flare of power.

They flapped their wings, and a surge of Aurora Borealis came to life over the area.

A pearlescent cream-coloured egg with large gold speckles rocked back and forth in the nest of golden treasure. Crackling, tiny beams of light seeped out of the cracks as its occupant struggled to break free. A bright scarlet snout pushed up and out, a cream coloured tongue flicked in and out, curiously testing the air. Wreathed in mane of coppery down, the young serpent finally pulled herself free of the egg, sending shards of her shell tumbling away. Her crimson body faded into pale gold along her belly as it led to a shining, gold-tipped tail. She fanned her copper wings, her startling sky-blue eyes shining like beacons. She curled her body around the couple, snuggling with them. _"I am Natsu, and I wish to know you better."_

After Loki and Hermione licked over their new baby daughter with their tongues, they allowed the couple to share their daughter with the gathered group of ambassadors, allowing her to soak up the energy and pets and worship of her supplicants. They allowed Natsu to rub up against each person, cuddle with them, and have them adore her as befit such a fortuitous birth. She rolled and basked in the faith of her adoring visitors, working the crowd with the expertise of a born professional. The faith energy flared, and Natsu flapped her wings, her baby down transforming into a full array of feathers in a great surge of power. Sheer happiness caused Natsu to emit a brilliant solar flare, filling the area with radiant heat and brightness, causing a hum of appreciative ooohs and ahhhs.

Only one egg remained, but it was the smallest one of all, barely up to the height of an adult human thigh. Hermione and Loki licked the surface, testing the egg, but were seemingly unconcerned if their youngest preferred to wait a little bit longer. Loki and Hermione moved the treasure around the last egg, carefully tucking it in for a longer gestation period. The rest of the serpentlets were all being adored by their own devotees, and the surge of faith power was thrumming throughout the temple, radiating off the quetzalcoatls and blazing through the surrounding atmosphere with coloured surges of shimmering light. The jungle biome bloomed, practically glowing, and the air tinkled with the sounds of soft breezes, birdsong, wind chimes, and— _life_.

* * *

The main commotion died down after many, many hours of celebration and veneration, and each delegation that came went out into the world to spread the news.

Hermione yawned from atop the temple landing, her coils having formed the nesting bowl to cradle the last egg while it continued its incubation. The other serpentlets gathered around and sang to the egg, offering encouragement or solace or perhaps some combination in between.

Loki and Hermione had licked over and imprinted on all of their hatched progeny, adding their new songs to the fabric of their family, and Frigga and Severus were perhaps the most happily serpent-smothered grandparents on Miðgarðr. Raina hung on Severus like a serpent stole, and sang about her dreams and adventures within the egg— traveling the cosmic pathways and seeing the ancestral temples were her ancient kin had flown and nested. Severus, in turn, looked utterly peaceful— a contentment of having both daughter and family closer in a manner his birth one had not afforded him. Some of his nigh-forty years suddenly seemed to melt away, making him look like a much younger man with far fewer regrets plaguing his mind and soul.

Frigga and Severus spent hours together, speaking of the matters of gods and mortals, and while Frigga crafted shards of the hatched eggshells into various talismans, Severus set each one with a tiny, crystal vial where a tear from Loki and Hermione combined to give the focus a personal blessing— and perhaps, one day, one very special boon of extraordinary healing to one most desperately in need: a blessing from the quetzalcoatls that had found themselves and their family to start their family in the most unlikely of places. No one that left the hatching that day left without something. From the littlest of goblets, who had gleefully hugged and caressed, brushed, and groomed the little serpentlets, to the high priests and priestesses and ambassadors, each visitor gained a talisman to take home with them. Each carried an unmistakable mark of the favour of their quetzalcoatl gods. And while Loki was well and truly used to the general concept of Norse godhood, Hermione was much more laid back. She accepted it because the faith was undeniable. The power it gave and the protection it blessed her family with soothed the pathways of her acceptance. Having Frigga, Loki, and Thor near to help with the transition made it easier as well. Loki, perhaps, was her greatest connection to what they truly were— what they had become, together.

Frigga and Thor seemed awed by the power of such faith— their powers and magic, or what they believed were simply Asgardian norms, did not tap into faith as intimately as it seemed the quetzalcoatls did. Faith, while perfectly acceptable to have as a god, was not the core of Asgardian power— but they were not like the other pantheons. Asgardians were, in fact, mortal… give or take five thousand years or so.

"Somehow, we have lost touch with the power of worship and faith," Frigga said to them as they crafted. "In our rise to protect and guard the Nine Realms, we simply went on without regard to how others perceived us. We forgot what had made us gods to begin with—and unlike those gods who bound themselves so intimately into the cosmos itself for whatever side they so chose, we, the Asgardians, continued on as a people, refusing to take on the mantle of responsibility that true godhood bestows."

"Intimacy with the souls of the faithful," Severus had nodded in agreement, calmly grooming Raina into a purring, hissing, blissfully happy serpentball. Naseem chomped playfully on his sister's tail, but refused to loosen his grip on his beloved Nan.

"And realising that my youngest son and his mate have not only accepted such a mantle but have done so fluidly brings me no small amount of pride," Frigga admitted, caressing Naseem's glossy green head as the baby serpent cooed adoringly at her. "Already, the very lands have begun to reflect the strength of the growing bond between the living gods and their faithful."

Frigga looked up and smiled at her towering serpentine son. "It gives my heart peace to know that he has found such acceptance in who and what he has been all along. I hold this in no small regard as the work of your wonderful daughter, Severus."

Severus snorted, wiping his nose with the back of his hand as he continued to work steadily. "She somehow possesses a set of skeleton keys to even the rustiest of heart locks. They slide in without you ever realising it, and then before you know it, you cannot imagine your life without her."

Frigga smiled. "Then I am very glad that she has them."

Hermione's head dropped down, and her golden tongue slurped her wayward clingy serpentlet and pegged both Severus and Frigga as well. Naseem giggled and slither-hugged against his mum's snout as Raina protested meekly at being dislodged, but she wasn't fooling anyone. All of the newborn baby serpents projected absolute love and adoration to their parents with a tangible vibration. Each baby serpent was chock full of a great many eons of ancestral memories, stories, ballads, songs, and even— causing Severus to roll of his eyes at such a thing— limericks.

_There once was a great God of Thunder_

_Who held such a hammer of wonder_

_He met this lady named Jane_

_No one claimed she was plain_

_And proceeded to hammer her under._

Frigga promptly lost her tea all over poor Naseem, who proceeded to absorb every drop quite happily, while Severus continued on with his intricate charm-work, smirking into his lap.

_On one day one brother found beer,_

_And consumed it with joy and great cheer_

_Then he found buttered scotch,_

_Everyone thought he had botched_

_For he proceeded to drop trou without fear._

Naseem had his mouth open for Frigga's tea, and she just poured all the rest into his waiting maw.

_There once was a wizard named Harry,_

_But alas, we saw only him quite rarely._

_He's always buried in books,_

_The offspring give him plentiful looks,_

_Wondering who he might finally marry._

_-o-o-o-_

_There once was a young wizard with issues._

_Who thought he might run out of tissues._

_He longed for a witch to complete him_

_Barely sat still to meet them_

_So he cuddles alone with his Shih Tzu_

_-o-o-o-o-o-_

_A man went out hunting for Snorkack,_

_But instead somehow landed in Borlac._

_He Portkeyed to two places_

_Punched a few random faces_

_Then he arrived to crash-land on his back._

_-o-o-o-o-o-_

**Crack!**

Xenophilius Lovegood fell out of the sky, arms and legs flailing wildly, his Portkey flying out of his hand to bonk Loki on the snout, squarely between his eyes, as his body finally made landfall. Xeno finally came to a rest, flat on his back at the top of the dais as he expelled a rather loud grunt. He had two black eyes, half his white-blond hair had been singed off, there was some sort of odd-looking horn sticking out of his arse, and a butterfly net was clenched tightly in his hand.

A tiny creature, pale pink and utterly naked, with no fur at all, a pair of crumpled pearlescent horns, and beady black eyes stared up out of the net at all the onlookers staring down at it and its captor.

"Eeeeee!" The marbled grey egg on the dais rattled and cracked. Bits of "pottery" shell popped off and came to rest within the nest. A silver-grey snout popped out. Two bright rose-pink eyes peered up out of the egg. There was a flash of bright orange and crimson belly scales and white wings as a spring-loaded baby quetzalcoatl burst out and tackled the netted creature and then splatted smack into Xenophilius' face just as he was endeavoring to stand up at last.

Just then, Luna and Draco were rushing up the temple stairs together, gasping for breath, their faces distinctly flushed and their clothes and hair looking oddly… rumpled and disheveled, several buttons appearing to be unfastened as well. "Father, we _tried_ to fet—"

At the newest baby serpent's impact, Xenophilius went flying backwards into his daughter and Draco, and they all went tumbling arse over kettle back down the steps. Meanwhile, Xenophilius remained oddly oblivious to everything, as a rosey-eyed serpent was face-hugging his head fiercely, her oversized floofy rainbow tail smacking him repeatedly between the eyes and upside the head as she wriggled with delight at finally getting to make her own debut into the world.

_"I'm Yoki!"_ the little serpent said, her long tail smacking into him mercilessly.

Hermione's golden tongue wedged itself under the little serpent and jiggled her wriggling offspring off of Xenophilius. She passed the bundle of premature tail floof to Loki, who licked her over and inspected her expertly with his huge crimson eyes.

Yoki slumped, her moon wings drooping and mane of fluffy down rustling. _"Sorry, Mummy and Daddy. Couldn't wait anymore."_

Loki exchanged glances with Hermione as they hissed back and forth to each other.

Severus stared, one eyebrow raised high, at Draco, who was being rather unceremoniously squished in-between Xenophilius and Luna Lovegood. "So, Draco. I take it that even the momentous birth of an entire nest of baby quetzalcoatls cannot get you to arrive promptly, much less in a… proper and appropriate state of dress."

Draco simply wheezed in embarrassed distress, his grey eyes going very wide.

Luna just stared at a piece of eggshell that had landed nearby. "Oh, that's okay. He has a _very_ convincing tongue."

All the baby serpentlets flicked out their tongues simultaneously in response, causing Severus to reach down and smack Draco upside the head with the flat of his palm. "Idiot boy."

Loki flicked his tongue out to Hermione, tickling her snout, and she hummed at him in response.

Severus stared up at the two of them, clearly unimpressed. "No more baby serpents for you for a while," he admonished them sternly. He withdrew a tin from his robes and pulled out what looked like rice candy. "Open."

The two quetzalcoatls obediently extended their tongues, and he placed a piece of the "candy" on the top of their forked mouth appendages.

"Swallow."

They did.

"Good quetzalcoatls. We wouldn't want you to beat out the Weasley family in less than a year, now would we?"

Loki murrrred to Hermione, a rather smug serpentine smile plastered across his snout.

* * *

"My Jane," Thor said, holding her by the shoulders. "I do not ask such an important question idly. I do not ask because you are… blocked up." Thor scratched his head in confusion. "I ask you to be my wife because there is no one else for me. You are the one woman that I want. Yesterday. Today. Tomorrow. Whatever may come, I want you by my side."

"I'm not a goddess, Thor," Jane sighed, sitting on the settee and wringing her hands in obvious distress.

"I am not asking you to be."

"Your father wants you to be king. A king _needs_ a proper queen," Jane said quietly.

"That queen would be _you_ , if it should come to that." Thor grasped her hands in his much larger ones. "I would have no other, Jane. I love you, truly."

"Thor, I'm a big girl," Jane told him firmly. "I _can_ have a child and yet provide more than adequately. You don't have to feel that just because we share such a connection that I _must_ have a ring. But that just isn't necessary, you know? We _don't_ need to do this. I don't— I don't want it to be a wrong decision that we made in haste."

Heliotrope bounced in-between them, spronging up and down excitedly. A single, red rose hung between his covers. A delicate band of gold hung from a gossamer strand of celestial thread. A pair of stones, one the shimmering orb of the sun, one the moon, were bound together in what seemed— _was—_ the glistening encasement of a single living tear.

"My love for you is true, Jane," Thor said softly. "Please, I wish you to take this ring. Consider it a token of my love for you. Take whatever time you need to decide if you wish to wear it as a reminder of what we have or the promise of what we _could_ have. I know precisely what _I_ want, Jane. Please, do not believe that the sole reason I wish to make you my wife is because we are expecting a child together."

Heliotrope bounced, purring fervently in encouragement.

Jane slowly closed her hand over the booklet's warm, furry cover, her fingers plucking the ring off the rose. She closed her fingers around it. "I promise to consider it."

Thor covered her hand with his. "That is all that I ask, my love."

* * *

The tall blonde woman clutched a bundle of pristinely preserved black hair in her fist as she walked through the ancient roots of Yggdrasil. Many, many forgotten gateways branched out from the great tree's roots, and many, many more remained both remembered and not. The key to travelling to many of them had been lost, but there was only one place she currently desired to go, and Odin himself had given her the keys to go there: a lock of Loki's hair and a ring wrought of olden wood rather than metal, worn and weathered with age to a distinctively shiny patina.

"It is time for you to remind my son of his duty to Ásgarðr," Odin had instructed her. "Bring Loki back from exile and the two of you shall be wed before all of Ásgarðr, as we agreed was your mutual duty."

Duty.

Duty was the story of her life to date. She had been promised to Loki as his future bride, virtually from the moment of her birth. Now, it was her appointed task to bring her wayward betrothed home. The irony was that they had never been close. They had been somewhat familiar, nothing more than casual acquaintances. He had never lied to her, but he had never been as loud and ostentatious as his older brother. He had never been interested in anything more than idle conversation, spending time in the library or performing subtle trickeries. The only thing they had ever enjoyed together was, ironically, dagger play. Her skill in magic, while not terrible, was neither vast nor creative to the point of subtle artistry.

Odin had hoped she would one day be Loki's perfect counterpart, but instead—

Instead, Loki had found solace in a lovely young sorceress on the outskirts of Ásgarðr, seeking _her_ out instead of Sigyn. The more Sigyn would seek out Loki's presence, the more he would hide from her, until one day she was caught by Odin as she sulked alone in the gardens, lamenting that Loki would _never_ be hers.

The young sorceress had disappeared shortly after— and everything that had been stable and relaxed about Loki had abruptly disappeared along with her. He had become violent, angry, vicious and destructive. He had become blatantly cruel to her face. He told her in no uncertain terms _exactly_ how he felt about her golden girl looks and her petulant posturing.

Finally, Loki, too, had been exiled.

What magic had that other girl had that she had not?

Sigyn clenched the lock of hair in her hand and wore the wooden ring, slamming her hand into the nearby tree root. "Take me to Loki," she demanded.

The roots curled around her body and flung her into the vast beyond.

* * *

_Years earlier…_

_"Are you cold, my Lady?" Loki asked, pulling the young sorceress close to his body as he pressed his nose into her curls._

_"Never when I'm with you," she said, leaning into his muscular warmth as they watched the glorious cosmos unfold outside the confining walls of Ásgarðr._

_The pair snuggled together under the perpetually blooming tree, sitting on a woven blanket that looked stolen from the depths of the royal palace._

_"You're avoiding your brother again," she said, her fingers tracing intricate patterns across Loki's arm._

_"He is an annoying braggart," Loki said with a snort._

_"You have your moments as well, dear Loki," the brunette sorceress chuckled warmly._

_Loki arched a brow at her, fighting back a smile. "My Lady Idonia," he purred. "Do I not please you?"_

_"Most times, aye, you do," Idonia said with a smile in her gold-brown eyes.._

_"Only most times?" Loki gave a pout, putting out his quivering lower lip._

_"I am not a fool, Loki Odinson," Idonia chided him gently. "I know there are a great many others who would wish to sample your prowess just as assuredly as they do your brother's."_

_Loki growled, his arm looped around her slender waist possessively as he nuzzled her ear. "I have no interest in any of them."_

_Idonia smiled sadly, her fingers tracing his cheekbones with love and tenderness. "They do interest you, my prince," she said. "You enjoy toying with them like puppets on strings— pieces on a game board, or warriors on a field."_

_"Not as you do," Loki said, leaning her back into softness of the blanket. "I would prove it you, if you would but choose to accept me."_

_"What I feel for you is very deep and powerful," Idonia said softly, "but I am not anyone of great status. I do not curry the favour of our King. To even be here, with you— if he were to know—"_

" _I care not for your status," Loki said, his lips but a fraction above her mouth. "I want you. You. I— need to feel you upon my skin. I wish to leave my mark upon your throat. I wish to spoil you for all other men that no one, no other can ever sway your favour."_

_Idonia's eyes widened as Loki's eyes began to glow a soft red. Her curious fingers traced the strange indentations that were appearing across his flesh, and the moment she did so, Loki let out a low, tortured groan filled with undeniable want._

" _You're," Idonia whispered, "so incredibly beautiful."_

_Loki slammed his palms into the ground next to her head, his back arching with pure pleasure as he rubbed his cheek against hers like a cat. "I. Need. You." Loki's words were guttural, almost more animal than man. Intricate runic patterns rose and spread across his back, unbeknownst to him as his skin took on a rich shade of cobalt. "Please," he moaned desperately, his breaths becoming heavy and needy, full of unmistakable desire._

_Idonia wove her fingers through his hair, sending his body into a spasm of pure ecstasy. She drew his head down as she tilted her head to the side to expose her soft neck to him in invitation. "I am yours, my prince," she gasped but only a moment before his teeth clamped on her velvety skin, leaving the mark of his teeth against her flesh. Her eyes rolled back, filling with a strange radiant light, taking on the gold of the rising sun. She clawed at his back, her fingers fitting perfectly into the grooves of his rune-covered skin._

_He moved against her with haste, eager to feel her exquisite touch everywhere he possibly could. He guided her hands to where he needed them, but he needn't have put in too much effort. She slid against him as though made for him, both eager but nervous. He worshipped her every curve, his insistent mouth wreaking havoc on her breasts as his deft hands encouraged her to open to him._

_Whatever lovers they might have had in the past, none of them mattered anymore. In that moment, it was only the them— two bright and shining beacons of magic as their individual energies twisted and writhed against each other, curling around the other more and more tightly._

Mine.

_Blue-white magic surged across Loki's skin as their mouths mated, spreading across Idonia's in a writhing, lifelike stretch, seeking, reaching out to claim her as his own. Shimmering ghosts of feathers and scales hinted at hidden secrets within the spirals of magic. The stretch of giant wings that flapped high into the darkening sky._

_Loki's hips ground upward as his hands pulled Idonia's fevered body close to him, preparing to bury himself in her sweet, all-encompassing warmth that they might reach the glorious, blessed completion that they both so fervently desired—_

_**KZZZTTTTBAM!** _

_Odin's spear slammed down between the two lovers. Odin's face was a mask of wrath._ " _ **You are promised to another!"**_ _he roared. "_ _ **How dare you defy your duty to Ásgarðr, Loki! And you, sorceress! How dare you even touch what is so far above your station!"**_

_Loki went flying half-naked out into the dark hillside, his body immediately taking on the normal, pale appearance of the young Asgardian prince._

_Odin was now holding up Idonia by the scruff of her neck. "I forever cast you out of Ásgarðr, Idonia! For your crimes against the engagement of my son Loki to Lady Sigyn, you will be trapped in a mere mortal's life so that you may learn your true place among those as insignificant as yourself._ _ **BEGONE!"**_ _Odin roared, throwing the screaming young sorceress into the swirling cosmos beyond the walls of Ásgarðr._

_As Odin glowered over the crumpled body his youngest son, it was all Loki could do to grasp the blanket in his arms and press it close to his face— the last tatters of the unmistakable scent and magic of his beloved Lady Idonia, his sole remaining shred of comfort._

" _Munnin," Odin said darkly. "You will take care of the rest."_

_One raven from Odin's shoulder swooped down upon Loki— vast black wings seeming to stretch infinitely across the cosmos as it swooped down and took every single remaining memory of Loki's lover away— even the strange memories of bright scales and feathers, golden eyes, cobalt skin, and the sweet, soft caresses of undeniable love, both given and returned._

_The next morning, Loki Odinson awoke in his cold, lonely bed— feeling a raw, gaping emptiness in his heart and soul, as well as a seething, burning, uncontrollable rage that could not be quenched. But thanks to Munnin's touch upon his memory— Prince Loki knew not why._

_And below— far, far below in Miðgarðr— Hermione Jean Granger was born unto parents who had never known magic and most definitely had no love for the gods._

* * *

Loki opened his eyes, crimson having swallowed up his ice-blue irises. His arm reflexively curved around his mate's waist as he pressed his face into her curls. Eyes glowing, he clamped his teeth into the soft skin of her neck, the slight glint of his pointed canines flashing as the driving need to reinforce their bond filled his entire being.

Hermione's body tightened against him, and her magic flared up to meet his. She gasped his name in ecstasy as her eyes rolled backward. He suckled on her skin like a hungry lamprey, drinking in her magic even as his spread from his runic markings to fuse with hers, their distinctive cocktail of pure magical energy sliding together as one.

"My Prince," Hermione whispered as she shuddered with pleasure, her voice seeming to come from far away.

"Mine," Loki growled possessively, his magic flaring brightly as it poured into her. Hermione cried out, body spasming in his arms, but he covered her protectively with his body, keeping the contact of his flesh with hers. He sang to her. His voice rumbled as his magic resonated.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Their bodies merged together like the draw of opposing magnets. Loki drove into her desperately, each thrust flaring the bond between them. Hermione cried, whimpered, and gasped Loki's name, her hands curled into claws as she clung to him.

_Idonia. My sorceress._

_Mine._

_Our bond frees us from Munnin's thievery._

_We are free._

_Free of Ásgarðr._

_Free of Odin._

_Our thrones shall be crafted out of the cosmos itself._

_Our children shall spread across the Nine Realms, singing the songs of the Ancient Pathways._

_We shall never be parted again._

_I shall never leave you._

_Hermione. Idonia. My sorceress._

_My queen._

_My goddess._

_My love._

A blast of combined solar and lunar energy roared out between them as they reached completion together— bodies, hearts and souls mated together. The temple grounds burst into the colourful rays of the Aurora Borealis.

Meanwhile, in his potions lab, Severus Snape fed Raina a salt and pepper prawn and rubbed her chin fondly. "This is why mummy and daddy have serpentine birth control. Yes it is."

Raina stared up at her grandfather with absolute adoration, humming a happy little tune. "Love you, grandpa!"

Severus lowered his head to kiss the little quetzalcoatl on the head. "I love you too, miscreant. Now, eat some cucumber." He held out a slice of cucumber between his fingers.

The black rainbow-obsidian quetzalcoatl serpentlet curled lovingly around his wrist and munched on the crunchy offering obediently, radiating nothing but utter contentment. Tiny strands of lunar and solar magic slithered off her markings and wrapped themselves intimately around Severus' pale skin, burrowing into the lines of his magic.

Severus gave a soft gasp of wonder, bracing himself against the chair as he sank into it, his eyes wide as trickles of gold and silver flowed through each vessel, filling his black eyes with glistening stars. Her magic flowed through his body, driving away the old, tar-like magic that had once bound him to another… a dark, evil, megalomaniacal monster of a master.

_Mine,_ Raina announced happily, snuggling into her grandfather's neck with a warm purr.

Dark ichor flowed out from the skin of Severus' arm, instantly smothered by the gold and white tendrils of Raina's inherent magic. Ancient Mayan-like markings spread up his arm, rising from his skin like runic scars, glistening and beautiful.

_My Priest. My grandfather. Mine._

Raina rubbed her head affectionately against Severus' cheek.

"Yours," Severus' voice said in a choked whisper, his gaze and voice filled with love.

Raina lovingly stuffed a piece of cucumber into Severus' mouth.

* * *

Kersplat.

Squeak!

Rustle, rustle.

Squeak!

_**Rrrrrr?** _

Boing. Squeak.

Boing, boing, boing… squeak.

Sigyn slowly opened her eyes to find a tiny, furry— book?—sitting on her chest. It had a gold cover and tiny purple spots, ruby crystalline teeth, and bright blue eyes.

_**Rrrr?** _

It bounced on her chest, a small golden question mark appearing on its tiny cover.

Rustle. Rustle. Rustle.

Boing!

The booklet was quickly joined by several others, all of them staring curiously at Sigyn as she lay stunned and supine on the chill stone floor.

"Hhhrrgh," she managed. Where _was_ Loki? She had the lock of his hair— the ring Odin had given her— so he _had_ to be here. Yet all she had managed to do thus far is land flat on her back and then find herself accosted by a vast multitude of small, furry, possibly sentient, book-like creatures. Where _was_ here, anyway?

There was a soft humming nearby, and Sigyn froze instantly, then swiftly brushed the blanket of purring, bouncing booklets off of herself. She followed the sound, and realised she was stepping out of what might have been a small library or perhaps a nursery— for _books_.

The room opened up into a larger chamber, dimly lit with seemed to be torches, yet there was no heat or smoke. Large, furry tomes hopped along the shelves, herding the smaller booklets ahead of them with toothy nips to the spine. "Normal" books surrounded her, all bearing various strange and obscure titles. Magic had never been a _true_ passion for her, but she could tell as her hand drifted across the covers that each of the books were imbued with magical energy.

Odin had arranged for her to get the very best in magical and weapons education, as befitting a proper Lady of Ásgarðr, and she had done her level best to work steadily towards the end goal. It was both her duty and privilege to be known as Loki's betrothed. She was expected to keep up, and she had—but Loki had consistently never taken more than a cursory interest in her, at best.

Why, she had _no_ idea.

Then again, it wasn't expected for one to be in love to marry. It was expected for her to stand by Prince Loki, second in line to the royal throne of Ásgarðr.

As Sigyn explored further, she saw the silhouette of a woman with a lush mane of bushy curls interspersed with a fine, delicate array of feathers. The woman ran a familiar pearl-encrusted comb through her long hair. It looked like one of the ornate combs found within the palace in Ásgarðr, only there was a distinct touch of age about it. A tiny golden book bounced up and down on the nearby shelf, and she drew her hand across its fur, extending the pearled comb into its care. The book purred and rubbed up against her hand before bouncing off with her comb.

Sigyn looked down to find a little pink-furred book snuggling up to her sandal. Tiny, furry hearts floated across its cover as it slathered sticky book paste all over her ankle and toes.

"Eugh," she said, using her foot to push the oddly flirtatious book away. It bounced back to rub up against her sandal and foot again and again, making adorable squeaking sounds, and Sigyn pushed the little book away again, pinning it under a large, unmoving book specimen.

The pink book squirmed and gave a sad squeak, casting more hearts towards her paste-covered foot and ankle. Golden letters appeared across its spine: _The Seductive Lure of Sexy Sandals._

Sigyn made a face, unsure what to think of this exceedingly strange library and its equally strange inhabitants. She refocused on the woman, feeling very strongly that she _knew_ her from somewhere, someplace.

The woman wore a soft, almost transparent throw. She seemed utterly comfortable— the kind of casualwear that occurred only in private, behind closed doors in Ásgarðr. A line of little books were following her around, and she ran her hands over each one as one would a favoured hound. They nuzzled her fingers and got paste all over them, but the woman only smiled and ruffled their furred covers, looking on them fondly. She opened one of the bookcases, and a creature that looked like a huge snake with a feathered mane yawned widely into the woman's face.

"There you are, my little love," the woman said with affection. She pressed a tender kiss to the serpent's nose. "Don't hide from your brothers and sisters for too long, now."

The crimson-nosed serpent playfully chomped on the woman's nose, its forked tongue sliding lightly across her face. The woman grasped the serpent by the head and pressed her forehead to the the beast's. "I love you too, miscreant. Go on now."

The maned serpent rubbed its head against the woman and slithered down the bookshelves and away, presumably to join its siblings.

Sigyn pulled her shawl more closely over herself, thankful for the enchantments that had been sewn into its fabric. Travel amongst the Realms required such things. The passing of gods had be calculated, either seen or unseen. Sigyn, however, was the Goddess of Fidelity. Hers was not to be at the forefront of battle. She was to be put on show when needed, to be held up as a living example of duty. She had to remain faithful, and her duty to Loki was to bring him home so they could both go on with their lives together.

A tall, familiar figure moved in behind the woman, long black hair moving like a curtain over his pale face and eyes that were both ice and emeralds at the same time. "Are you ready?" he whispered into her skin. "The delegation is here."

The woman turned to look up into his face, her eyes bright and warm. "We were never taught much about Jötunn culture," she said a little nervously. "What if I say something wrong?"

Loki's most mischievous smile was tugging insistently at his lips. "All you need to do is scream my name as we doth join in our most intimate of unions."

"Loki!" the woman gasped, shoving him with her hands.

"Do I not please you?" Loki purred the question. "My. Lady?" He brushed his hand against her cheek.

"You know you do," the woman replied, flushing deeply.

"Do you know what it does to _me_?" Loki asked. " _That_ look? That catch of breath whenever you think of me, moving inside you. That you want… _me_?"

The curl-maned woman touched his cheek lovingly. "How could I _not_ want you, my Handsome. My Prince?"

Loki stared into her face intently. "The Jötunn firmly believe that unless a union is witnessed to be true and mutual that it is but a farce— a false claim to a peace that shall never be consummated. This— what we have together— could, _will_ , broker a peace between Jötunheim and Miðgarðr in a way that Ásgarðr could only dream of."

"They can't just take a temple full of baby serpentlets as sufficient proof?" the woman asked with a rather amused expression.

"Formalities," Loki murmured into her ear.

"I know nothing of Jötunn culture—"

"Nor did I, love," Loki pointed out gently, "but the elders have been more than accommodating in seeing to our impromptu education. Things— that might have helped you make a more informed decision, once upon a time."

"Did you think my decision would have changed?" The woman's laugh filled her eyes with a golden radiance.

"You accepted a monster, even then," Loki whispered.

"You were _never_ a monster, Loki," she said firmly. "You were always kind to me. Aggravating. Trickster. Hiding my books. Sneaking kisses when you _knew_ what it did to me."

"You were not blameless, my Lady," Loki said, the brush of his lips upon her forehead. "I was mad with the sheer want of you."

"Was."

"Am _still_."

"Liar. It is but a dull roar now, eventually fading to nothing."

Loki growled loudly, his shoulders hunched as he caged her body up against the bookshelf with his arms.

Sigyn flinched as the scent in the air began to change to something musky and undeniably powerful. It smelled of ancient, secret places and primordial shapes moving under the darkness of Creation. Her hand immediately reached for the token she had brought with her, instinctively clasping it tightly as if it would prevent her from drowning or being torn away from the very ground.

Loki grunted, his hands clenching as he forced himself to back away. He summoned a shimmering robe that seemed to be crafted from wispy plumes of snow-white fur. He drew it across the woman's shoulders and trembled slightly as his fingers drew across her skin. He drew out an intricate crown that seemed to be crafted of ancient ice, guiding it to her forehead.

"Idonia," he whispered, puffs of fragile, almost insubstantial ice crystals forming as his breath ghosted against her skin. "Beloved Hermione. Stand with me at my side that they may know us as one."

"Do I have to?" Hermione replied teasingly, a flicker of mischief tugging at her lips.

Loki stuck out his lower lip in a pout, sinking his eyebrows mock-sadly for overall effect. "You would force me to forever lament the entire Cosmos, teaching my spawn the bitterness of a fickle female scorned, who dangled the greatest treasures of all the Realms, then just ran away?"

Hermione tilted her head up haughtily, closing her eyes and feigning the wish to ignore him properly.

Loki ran his hands over the soft skin of her waist. "Are you a cuckoo bird, my love? Laying your eggs in our nest and then leaving me bereft?"

"Hardly bereft," Hermione said resolutely, her eyes still closed as she turned her head away from him.

Loki attempted to wriggle his way against her, but she continued to deny him, turning her body from him just so. He gave a soft growl of frustration and pressed his mouth to her ear, breathing heavily into it.

Hermione shuddered slightly, her body instantly reacting to his warm breath despite her best intentions.

A soft knock announced the presence of another. "Far be it from me to interrupt another stunning demonstration of electromagnetic lighting, you two, but the delegation has arrived."

Hermione flailed wildly, her arms pulling her along the bookshelf. She wrapped her arms around a startled-looking golden book and fled the room, tiny wisps of fur and feathers were the only remaining trace of her having been there.

Loki glared in the direction of the interrupter, but there was no true heat behind it.

The dark-eyed man crossed his arms across his chest. "Whenever will the honeymoon be over, hrm?"

Loki's eyes glittered with ice and emeralds. " _Never_."

* * *

As Sigyn slowly found her way out onto a high platform, she pulled her shawl protectively around herself. The platform set high in the sky, set before a ceiling that was nothing but an open expanse of swirling space— much as was seen from Ásgarðr when peering down at the other Realms from the Bifröst. The pathways were stone, yet frost and mist rose up in tendrils from them simultaneously. Grey and darkened blue banners, the colours of Jötunheim, flew on countless banner poles.

She tightened her grip on her dagger, instinctively knowing the Jötunn as her mortal enemy. Despite the peace brokered by the All-Father, every Asgardian _knew_ that the giants were a danger beyond measure. Had Odin not forced the hand of Laufey and ensured peace between them, the war would still be raging.

Everything about them was unnatural. They stood tall and proud despite having been soundly defeated. They wore almost nothing— exposing so much of their strangely patterned skin to the frozen winds as if to thumb their collective noses at the Asgardian sense of decency. Their eyes, so unnaturally red and malevolent-looking, glowed like embers in a fire that simply refused to die.

The parade of banner-carriers circled around the platform. The most forward of their number knelt down, making room for the others behind. Even so, their size made them seem to tower over the figure of Loki and his chosen paramour.

_Idonia._

That thrice-damned sorceress— would she never be free of that shameless betrothed-stealing whore? Odin had cast the girl out of their world forever. She had no godhood, no title, no name. She was nothing. _Nothing!_

Why then did Loki continually insist on rubbing her in Sigyn's face? How had they even _found_ each other again? Was _this_ why Odin wanted her to retrieve Loki? Before—

Was she sent here to stop this meeting between the Jötunn and the odd inhabitants of this strange place? Was that her _true_ task?

Sigyn fidgeted as she saw Loki standing up on the dias with the traitorous Idonia. She couldn't hear the conversation, but the Jötunn were offering up what appeared to be finely carved containers of some sort of salve. Idonia— she dipped her fingers into it and began to trace patterns across Loki's skin even as he did the same to her. Their fingers dragged across each other's flesh, leaving trails of glowing, ice-like markings.

Loki was losing his clothing piece by piece, his pale skin shining in the dimness, save for the soft glow of the salve. Idonia covered every bit of his skin with shimmering runic markings— just like a Jötunn would have.

Sigyn's skin crawled. _Why_ would an Asgardian prince submit himself to such humiliation? Looking just like a hated Jötunn?

Then, Loki's hands deftly disrobed his partner, tracing even more of the distinctive Jötunn markings upon her skin with the glowing salve. The more his hands roamed, a change appeared to be coming upon the raven-haired prince of Ásgarðr. His skin was darkening into a shade of dark cobalt blue. His eyes smoldered with a deep crimson glow.

He looked _exactly_ like a Jötunn!

Loki then lowered Idonia down into some sort of "bowl" that seemed to be lined with white fur as the Jötunn used their banners to block any view of the proceedings. But it didn't take much for Sigyn to fill in the blanks of precisely what was occurring behind the concealing banners. A low, deep groan lead to a feminine shriek of ecstasy as an vivid outpouring of intense, multi-coloured light blasted outwards from the very top of the dais. A blast of frigid, icy wind novaed out from the center, and the Jötunn stamped their banners with a rhythmic thunder.

The Jötunn rose from kneeling, all letting out a united chant of solidarity and unmistakable approval.

"We hereby witness and swear peace between our united peoples," a wizened Jötunn said, waving his banner across the platform. "As one of our own unites with his true lifemate, she not being born of our kind, we recognise the ancient covenant's rebirth with their sacred union of bodies and souls. For as long as this union remains true, so too shall our vow of peace."

A line of elder Jötunn stood around the couple. Each dipped their fingers into the glowing, ice-like paste. They drew their fingers across Loki and Hermione's skin, sending a flare of frost and ice energy singing across the markings.

"I, Hakon, witness your union," the grizzled elder Jötunn said. He drew an ornate belt around Loki and Hermione's waist. The fingers of ice-like, living crystal moved across their waists. "May the ice sing your children to sleep, that they may never know loneliness."

"I, Jord, witness your union," an elder female said, drawing gossamer fabric to hang on the waist belt. She pulled a stole of soft fur across Loki's shoulders and Hermione's breasts. "May the frosts favour you eternally, blessing your family with its gentle kiss."

"I, Áki, witness your union," a Jötunn with a jagged slash that went down half of his face said. He drew his fingers across their markings as he set a growing crown of ice in their hair. The tendrils slithered across their foreheads, growing and spreading like the roots of the Yggdrasil over their skin. "May the winter's chill temper your emotions so that the heat of anger can never melt the bonds of love that you share."

There was a rustle amongst the Jötunn as a larger member of their number walked up the path to the main platform. He carried a large club slung over his shoulder, but it was covered in ornately formed ice carvings. There was a thick fur stole wrapped around the giant's shoulders, tied and pulled into tassels and trimmed with the claws and teeth of some great animal that had obviously not parted with them willingly. He had scars running across scars that ran across his runic markings, creating a pattern that bore a striking resemblance to a patchwork design. He stood in front of the other elders, obviously revered in a way others were not, but his carriage seemed somewhat conflicted. It was clear that he was used to being the one others deferred to, but he now stood at the top of the dais with a slight bow to his broad shoulders.

He slammed his club down in front of him, using the shaft in which to lean upon. "I, Laufey, King of the Jötunn, bow in acknowledgment of my own personal failings. Long has our kind struggled to remain strong and independent. We have long desired our freedom from the yoke of any rule but our own, and we have— _**I**_ have— always associated power with one's physical stature."

"Despite our most treasured legends," Laufey said, "peace was won via the power of one force vanquishing another. Odin of Ásgarðr bought our peace by defeating me in combat and stealing the Casket of Ancient Winters to ensure that our people never used it against another race again. It was there in which I did descend into self-loathing and despair, and I abandoned my child as a runt to the icy colds, cursing fate that it gave me something weak just when my people needed something strong."

"Then, to my everlasting shame," Laufey confessed, "my enemy did offer what I could not, and I have lived with my weakness and regret ever since that shameful day. I will make no excuses for my actions. I do, however, beseech you not to judge my people based on my sins, my shortcomings, and my own fears and weakness. The elders have witnessed the truth of this union before the ice and snow at the frozen core of Jötunheim. Now, before you, I lay down all my shame and my sins, that my people may rise again. I pray to you, give us a sign of your favour, even if I must be cast out from my people, so that they may know the glorious blessing which has reached our ears even in the very bowels of Jötunheim."

The King of the Jötunn remained unmoving where he was, and there was total silence. Nothing, but the soft wind blowing across the dais and the flapping of banners in the air signalled that anything was going on.

" _ **Nnnnnnnnnnngh,"**_ a melodious note rang out in the air.

" _ **Hnnnnnnnnnnnn,"**_ another voice answered, and the entire platform shuddered as two sets of great wings unfolded as if unwrapping from a vast mountain. A glimmer of cobalt and golden scales rubbed against each other in a flare of black and rainbow feathers.

The feathers rattled and flared, shuddering. Scales moved against scales. Feathers brushed against feathers, and plasma shot out from every extended feather as a resonate song shoot the very sky and ground. Rising out of the temple, seven smaller serpents drifted through the streamers of plasma, dancing along the trail of magic as if it were a road made just for them. They darted and flew to and fro, twirling, and looping playfully as they sang their songs in reply to the far more massive adults.

The serpentlets slid around the Jötunn elders, allowing them to touch and stroke their bodies as they flew by. Gasps of wonder and astonishment rose up from the gathered crowd. The large cobalt serpent entwined his body around his mate's and then lowered his huge head, gently nudging the young serpentlets towards the bowing king of the Jötunn.

Seven bright faces cocked their heads and tasted the air curiously with their forked tongues.

"Hello, grandfather," they sang, performing little cartwheels in the air.

Laufey hesitantly extended one gnarled hand, scarred and worn from so many past battles long buried. The serpentlets rubbed up against his hand with their feathered manes. His hand trembled as the baby serpents mobbed him, covering his mass with their writhing, serpentine bodies.

If the King of the Jötunn felt any discomfort at all, it was soon lost as he was plowed over by a wave of curious, forgiving baby serpentlets under the calmly watching and approving eyes of their parents.

" _ **Nnnnnnnnnnngh!"**_ Hermione sang.

" _ **Hhhhhhhhhhnnnn!"**_ Loki replied, their bodies writhing back and forth in a rhythmic dance, wings brushing, scales sliding, and feathers entwining as they rose up above the gathered, undulating to the pulses of the cosmos in tandem.

Plumes of faith energy rose up from the gathered Jötunn, rising to merge with the elder quetzalcoatls. They fanned their wings and sang in harmony, guiding the energy meal into seven smaller meals for their brood of growing serpentlets. The baby serpents sang out their gratitude in response, adding their songs to the serenade. They flapped their wings and undulated as best they could in an attempt to emulate their graceful parents.

Loki slithered just so.

Hermione mirrored his movements precisely.

The serpentlets tried their best to imitate in their fashion.

Loki shook his mane of feathers, dipping his head. Hermione moved her head smoothly under his, and the babies did a chain wave of movements in an attempt to make it look intentional.

Loki's tongue flicked out and nudged all of his wayward offspring.

Hermione fanned her mane feathers, shaking them just so, and the serpentlets did the same, their downy poofed manes making them look more like lions. The babies happily bounced and twirled, showing off to their proud parents with their various dances and songs.

Vidar curled up on the end of Laufey's warclub, wrapping his midnight blue self around the shaft as he stared up into his grandfather's crimson eyes. He showed off his bright silver belly scales, doing a little slithering dance. He clacked his jaws together, mock chomping and withdrawing playfully.

Laufey's arms opened, almost shyly, as if the gears of an ancient mechanism were opening after countless centuries of neglect. The young serpent pounced like a spring, thumping into the Jötunn king's arms.

"Grandfather!" the serpentlet cried joyfully, snuggling into the giant's arms.

Twin trails of icy tears flowed down Laufey's cobalt cheeks, crashing to the floor and shattering into countless shards.

As Sigyn's hand trembled, her mind having taken in far too much in a very short time to remain unaffected by the day's stunning revelations, her fingers blindly tugged out the token-beacon Odin had given her. She crushed the lock of Loki's hair into and threw it blindly, her face blinded by tears drawn by yet another bitter betrayal upon her back.

She had done _everything_ that she was asked.

Everything.

Odin had wanted her to marry a— Jötunn?!

An unnatural blue-skinned creature from a heathen people who didn't even have the common decency to cover up their nakedness but for a few random shards of ice? Jötunn— they were _all_ murderers! They had killed countless Asgardians in so many hideously brutal battles. They had beaten in the skulls of noble Asgardian warriors, leaving them to freeze to death on the ice floes.

She didn't care if King Odin himself had seen fit to adopt some little blue-skinned whelp from the enemy and then deigned to call it his _son—_ the Jötunn could _never_ be trusted. They could _never_ be civilised. They could not be— _MARRIED_ , most especially not to _HER!_

She would _never_ willingly bind herself to an… abomination like that.

Monster.

Beast.

His perverted body, even now, was twisted into another equally beastly shape, dragging his chosen mate into a disgusting perversion of body and soul along with him.

That could have been _her_.

_SHE_ could have been twisted and deformed into a horrifying snake-like beast.

_**NO!** _

He could have been touching _her_ with his monstrous body— forcing _her_ to bear his mutant spawn! Forcing _her_ to debase herself to the lowlier peoples of the Nine Realms in order to curry favour for some sort of god-like ascension—

She would _NEVER_ rely on the worship of some fanatical group to give her power. She was a goddess in her own right. _She_ needed no one's aid to be what she was!

_She_ did not need to transform herself into some hideous monster in order to make a favourable impression!

She should have _known_. She should have seen it coming! All those tricks. All those illusions Loki had performed. All of it was telling her that he wasn't what he appeared to be, yet somehow she hadn't seen. She hadn't even _thought_ to see! And had she taken Loki back to Ásgarðr, they would have been married. They would have been bound together forever— she and a primitive, uncouth Jötunn!

A part of Sigyn was trying to tell her that Loki had ever been the furthest thing from uncouth and uncivilised, but that small part of her was being completely drowned out by thousands of years' worth of ingrained prejudice. Forgetting that only moments before she had longed for Loki's touch just as much any other hot-blooded woman of Ásgarðr would have. He was undeniably attractive— a son of the royal family. Marrying him would have set her for _life—_

A mere illusion.

Just like Loki, himself.

All of it would have been a _lie_.

Sigyn threw the beacon, and it bonked a startled moonstone-coloured baby serpent on the nose. The baby serpent's ruby eyes whirled slightly as she shook her head to clear it, even as the thundering drone of the Bifröst roared to life and swallowed up the top of the platform with the formation of the rainbowed gateway.

Itzel's ruby eyes widened in fear as several figures materialised in the rolling mist of the Bifröst. A huge, red-bearded man hoisted a large axe high over his head as his eyes focused on what was around him. The tip of his boot pinned the young serpent down to the ground by her tail, and she frantically pulled and struggled to free herself.

" _ **Jötunn!"**_ the man bellowed, pulling back his axe to heave it around. " _ **Raaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"**_

A huge warhammer went sailing through the air as the Warriors Three, Sif, and a large contingent of royal guards poured out of the Bifröst gate to meet the Jötunn delegation with extreme prejudice—

* * *

"Grandpa, why did those people attack us?" Raina peered down from Severus' shoulder, her tail tightly fastened around his neck like a safety lanyard.

"Because they are _imbeciles_ ," Severus said with a sniff, unstoppering a particularly noxious-smelling potion and pouring it down via a funnel through a hole in the mouth area of a patient sporting a full-body cast. Only a tuft of bright blonde hair stuck out the top and one golden sandal where a lone foot remained intact, save for about twenty wholly infatuated baby booklets that were industriously slathering themselves all over the exposed sandal.

A tall, silver-haired Jötunn female clucked her tongue in a disapproving manner as she tended a number of bodies that were bound snugly to their respective infirmary beds. Her dark ruby eyes held a weight of age and had a look of resigned tolerance about them. "Immortal, mortal—" she muttered. "They all end up in front of me eventually."

"May I watch?" Raina asked, her tail looped with eager curiosity.

"Of course," the giantess said, extending an arm.

The little serpent moved over to wrap herself around the giantess' arm, hooking her tail over her shoulder to anchor herself in place.

"What is this one?" the Jötunn female asked.

Raina sniffed the pertinent bottle. " _ **Ew!**_ "

"More than ew," the elder chuckled.

"Bone-mender. Couldn't you just gnaw off the arm and have it grow back?"

The man in the cast groaned loudly, struggling.

"That technique doesn't work for everyone, my dear," the giantess clucked amusedly.

"Daddy was _really_ pissed," Raina said critically, staring down at the mangled man who was sporting multiple heavily bandaged limbs and wore various colourful balms and ointments all over his face and body.

"As well he should have been," Thor's low rumble of a voice came as he strode into the infirmary. He cradled little Itzel in his muscular arms as the young serpentlet was playing up the wounded baby for his benefit, showing off her bandaged tail like a badge of courage.

"I should crush your skull for what you did, Volstagg," Thor said darkly, staring into the full body cast of his longtime friend. "Not that Jane did not accomplish that all on her own with Mjölnir. I am certain that father did not see _that_ coming, lest he would not have sent the lot of you to crash a civil diplomatic procession."

Thor sat himself down on Volstagg's leg, causing the other man to groan pathetically. "On the bright side, Lady Jane has accepted my hand in marriage, so I suppose some good did come out of this, even if it means that all four of you will be laid up for an entire month or two as your bones grow back. From what Lady Hermione tells me, it could have been far, far worse."

Thor peered into the man's face, then shifted his weight slightly to relieve the painful pressure on Volstagg's brawny leg— almost reluctantly. "My Lady Mother does wish to question all of you regarding your exceptionally poor timing," Thor said after a long beat. "Of all the times you might decide to turn up, you arrive here fully armed to fight surrounded by Jötunn elders and my brother's, erm… _unique_ family."

"They are the enemy," Volstagg wheezed. "You know this as well as I!"

"I am fully aware of what our people's history entails," Thor said darkly. "Would you heedlessly throw away the opportunity of a lasting peace? Would you have me, as a future king, blast us back into the times of unending war and undo over a thousand years of truce?"

Volstagg, to his credit, remained silent.

Thor paused, looking thoughtful. "I know that you crave a warrior's honour. You desire to prove yourself in battle, but this is a battle already won by my younger brother. That battle was won with an altogether different kind of sword."

A gathering of baby booklets were tugging on Volstagg's beard hair, curiously investigating their captive audience. They took turns bouncing up and down on his chest cast, wrestling with his beard and accidentally-not-so-accidentally taking a nap over his breathing hole.

The female Jötunn clucked her tongue at their antics, gently moving the booklets to the side to keep her patient from smothering to death on her watch.

"Lady Ishea?" Raina asked.

"Yes, child?" the Jötunn female replied.

"How long do they have to be under ice?"

"Normally, they would heal much faster, I think," the elder replied. "But this sorry lot were badly mangled by a god and a goddess."

"Mummy and Daddy are?"

"Mmmhmm."

"Why?"

"They were both born to be," the healer replied, soothing the young quetzal's downy mane. "Just as you and your siblings were."

"Oh." The young quetzalcoatl seemed to ponder things for a moment.

"Aren't they gods too?" Itzel asked, she peeked her head up over Thor's arm and stuck out her tongue curiously.

Ishea gave a gallant shrug. "There are gods and then there are _gods_ ," the healer said. "Even the Jötunn have their gods."

The two young serpents seemed to ponder this impromptu lesson together. "What do _real_ gods do?"

Ishea sat down, opening her arms for the two babies to come join her on her lap. They curled up and stared up at her attentively. "Gods watch over their people, sometimes protecting them from themselves, sometimes allowing them to make their own mistakes. But the gods that make their names known forever are the ones that give their blessings in exchange for faith. It is not to say there are not cruel gods, unfair ones, or even imperfect ones— but a true god remains true to themselves that they may remain true to their people. One cannot be the God of Succor and yet have never given anything but strife. One cannot be the God of Wisdom and yet only offer foolishness and yet reject the worth of knowledge. Your father is the God of Mischief, yes? Where would he be without his tricks?"

"With Mummy!" the babies replied bluntly and in unison.

The elder Jötunn laughed warmly. "And yet she too is a goddess made form. Can you guess what she is a goddess of?"

The two baby quetzalcoatls pondered silently, tails twitching as they considered the question. Their down manes poofed out in their avid concentration.

The dark opalescent serpentlet used the tip of her tail to scratch her face. "She's pretty inspiring!"

"She makes Grandfather smile," the rainbow-scaled serpentlet said.

"Mummy makes _everyone_ smile," Raina said, head-nudging her nestmate playfully.

The two serpentlets giggle-hissed together.

Floooop!

Plop.

Their emerald-green brother flopped on top of his sisters with a hiss, his wings flapped just enough to hover and then he dropped on top of them with a thunk. The two sisters moved over to let him snuggle with them, radiating pure contentment.

"Hi!" Naseem greeted the elder Jötunn.

Ishea smiled at him, rubbing her fingers under his scaled chin, just under his soft, downy ruffle.

"Uncle Draco wanted me to leave him alone so he could feel up Lady Luna in the library," Naseem announced with a yawn. "Not sure why he's so awkward about it. Mummy and Daddy courtship dance for each other all the time."

Thor made a distinct choking sound as Ishea laughed out loud.

Raina, Itzel, and Naseem all stared at Thor, eyes whirling. "You dance for Lady Jane too, don't you?"

Thor turned bright red. "I do not. Dance."

The serpentlets eyed each other somewhat suspiciously, peering at their Uncle Thor with half-lidded, soul-searching stares. "How do you prove your prowess then?"

"What if your scales aren't shiny enough?"

"What if your eyes aren't glowy enough?"

"What if your song isn't echoey enough?"

"How do you show her without any feathers?"

"How do you show her without sliding your body against hers so she can feel your muscles properly?"

Three sets of intensely curious no-boundary baby serpent eyes stared up at Thor.

"How do you impress her without a proper mane?"

"Can Lady Jane sing?"

"Can _you_ sing?"

More serpentine staring slapped Thor upside the face.

"What do Jötunn do, Lady Ishea?" Naseem asked, tongue flicking with interest.

The elder Jötunn smiled wistfully. "My mate once hunted the great ice elk and brought me the softest of furs. We mated until the hide had tanned itself to perfection. He gave me three strong sons and one equally strong daughter. It is customary that the first mating is not interrupted, and the elders will tend the hut to make sure ample food and water is left for a new couple until they they conceive— the one test that ensures that the bond is true. But first, the male must get his foot in the door. And he did bring me substantial offerings of his prowess for many months. He hunted the great frost seal, bringing me the blubber, so rich and decadent. He brought me the teeth and claws of the saber-toothed snow beast, stringing them on the sinew that I might know of his bravery. He brought me skinning knives made from the fangs of the Garkokva that I might never suffer a dull cut that might ruin my projects. Oh, what a male he was. When he beat his chest and gave me _that_ look, ah, I knew he was for me."

The serpentlets snuggled closer to her, eager to hear her story.

"He could not carry a tune," Ishea laughed. "But he could carry me, and so he did, straight into his hut under the full light of the quadmoons. I am pretty sure I couldn't carry a tune either, not that he had any complaints. And now that my children have grown and gone to the far reaches to find their own lives and mates, I am content that he would be proud to know his children carry his honour and his legacy."

"What happened to your mate, Lady Ishea?" the serpentlets asked together.

Ishea soothed their manes gently. "In a time of war there are a great many victims. Innocent or not, justified or not. He gave his life for his people and his king. His family. I am not dead just yet, little ones. A Jötunn lives on until their life ends, and I do not court Death today. Perhaps, I will find a male with blazing eyes and a fine appreciation for a woman of rather smaller stature."

"Jötunn have some strange ideas of what is considered smaller stature," Thor observed after a moment.

Ishea smiled. "Our benevolent goddess gives us these tokens that we might blend in and be protected from the heat of the unfrozen wastes," she said with no small smile as she fingered a pendant that seemed to be made of textured ancient pottery— remnants of a outer shell of an egg. "Does it help you forget that we stand some twenty to thirty feet tall without them?"

Thor blinked. "My apologies, my Lady Ishea. I believe you are correct. It _is_ easier to forget when you are— on the same level as me."

"No need for apologies, young prince," Ishea said with a chuckle. "It is a gift our goddess gives us. Her blessings allow me to be here, tending your people. It allows our King to parlay with you without the old enmity between us. This you have done, with no vehemence in your heart. For the first time in thousands of years, our people have peace not bought in blood nor by threat of it. The same could not be said in the time of my once-mate."

Thor gave a soft sigh. "My Lady Ishea," he said. "Is there anything you might wish of me? Something you wish to see from this coming together of our peoples?"

"Pray, Prince of Ásgarðr, that this understanding between us remains beyond the wings of our quetzalcoatl god and goddess," Ishea said quietly. "For only then will both our peoples be safe from the blind, unthinking hatred that caused these friends of yours to throw themselves heedlessly into the wrath of your brother and his mate."

The baby quetzalcoatls had fallen asleep in Ishea's lap, snoring softly as they snuggled into her warmth.

"I _will_ remember, Lady Ishea," Thor vowed grimly, his hand resting gently on Itzel's downy mane.

* * *

"Draco Lucius Abraxas Abyssinian Malfoy, you _will_ stop snogging the shite out of Luna Lovegood at once and help me with this table!"

Draco, his face red and clothing decidedly rumpled, staggered out of the far room. He swallowed hard and attached himself to the end of the long table Theo and Harry had been trying to move without him with limited success.

Luna, looking quite like the cat that had eaten the canary with relish, walked out into the room as though she owned the place.

Harry rolled his eyes, just happy to finally get the damn table moved to the right place.

"Why aren't you using magic to do all this?" Draco muttered grumpily. "You wouldn't need _me_ to—"

Theo slapped Draco upside the head with his palm. "There are guests here who may not appreciate us flinging magic around, idiot."

"How am I supposed to—"

Harry smacked Draco upside the head from the other side. "You're the one who volunteered to turn Malfoy Manor into a sodding brewery, mate. Don't tell me you slept through that."

Draco muttered a few rather rude things under his breath.

"You could just marry her," Harry said as they set the last of the tables in place. "Instead of merely living in sin."

Draco folded his arms across his body. "She says the Krumfit Addlebees have to be migrating before we can be married."

"Oh, now that's a _swell_ reason," Theo muttered, shaking his head.

"She's going to end up pregnant before you finally get married," Harry predicted, grinning cheekily at the blond Slytherin.

Draco spluttered, trying in vain to smooth out his outfit so it looked a little less frumpled.

"Lonely my arse," Theo muttered. "You're going to populate this bloody huge place with an entire horde of mini-Malfoys, and they are _all_ going to come out of the womb as drunk as fuck."

"Still don't understand why we can't set up this thing with magic. It's not like anyone is here to notice," Draco muttered. "Why have magic if you can't use it?"

"Severus said he's still working to try and isolate that last element that gets the Asgardians and Jötunn drunk," Theo explained. "That _also_ requires an entirely magic-less environment."

" _ **Why the bloody fuck does he have to do that HERE!"**_ Draco roared.

A multi-coloured sock flew across the room out of nowhere and stuffed itself into Draco's mouth.

Harry shook his head. "Because _YOU_ decided to turn this place into a brewery, you short-sighted sod!"

Draco glared daggers at him but finally slumped in resignation. "It's a _great_ idea, I'm telling you. I just had no idea it would turn out to be such a vast undertaking."

"Tom is practically ready to fly to the moon," Theo reported, grinning widely. "You can't _get_ better exposure than at the Leaky, at least within the Wizarding world. As for the rest, well, it should take off on word of mouth alone."

"You _do_ realise there is a bunch of blue people a few rooms over rearranging all of the silverware so it's not insulting?"

"Define 'insulting'."

"That's what I mean!" Draco hissed. "How the _hell_ are we supposed to know these things?!"

"That's easy," Luna said casually. "The silverware sings when you put it in the right place."

Theo, Draco, and Harry all stared at Luna uncomprehendingly.

Luna stared back at them serenely. "What? You can hear it, can't you?"

The wizards looked at Luna somewhat dumbly, scratching their heads in confusion.

"Mmm, pity," Luna said a little sadly. "They really do sound quite beautiful. Father only had a few pieces of fine silverware at home. They didn't carry a very good tune."

"Silverware is for eating with!" Theo protested. "It doesn't _sing_."

"Doesn't it?" Luna seemed thoughtful. "Sometimes, I wonder if you lot are all there," Luna said cheerily. Then she bounced off, humming a jaunty little tune to herself.

The three wizards exchanged glances.

Theo just shrugged. " _I'm_ not the one trying to impregnate her."

A red-faced Draco desperately tried to bury himself under the marble tiles of Malfoy Manor, but, alas, it didn't do him a lick of good.

* * *

"Did you dance for her?"

"Did you use your tongue?"

"Did you wiggle and sing?"

Seven curious serpentlets stared intently at Draco as he tried hopelessly to stare a hole through his tankard. "This is _not_ appropropriate baby serpent conversation!"

"Of course it's appropriate baby serpent conversation," they chimed together. "How _else_ do we get brothers and sisters?"

Draco just gaped at the baby serpents. "I— hey, that is none of your business!"

The serpentlets blinked at him, shaking their manes at him in bafflement. "Humans are _so_ silly. You spend all your time trying to peel clothes off, but then when you do, you don't want to discuss it with us."

"Yes, discuss!"

"Is she happy with you?"

"Does she sing?"

"Is it more of a moan?"

"Daddy really likes when Mummy moans."

"Yes!"

"Do you?"

Seven pairs of bright baby serpent eyes peered holes into Draco.

"I do _not_ like it when she— _**MERLIN! HERMIONE!"**_

A bushy-maned witch poked her head around the corner. "Draco, I can hear you floundering helplessly from five doors down. What _is_ it?"

"Your spawn are interrogating me about my sex life!"

"Why, is there something wrong with it?"

"Whu— _**what?**_ "

"Is there something wrong with your sex life?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Might as well just share with them, Draco. How _else_ are they going to encourage your fertility and bless your union when you finally get married?"

Draco stared, his jaw dropping in shock. "This so isn't right, Hermione! They're _babies!_ "

"Baby quetzalcoatls," Hermione corrected him. "Not human! They came out of the shell knowing more than most adults do. They just need to understand application and real life context."

Draco hissed, "Can't they learn about, I don't know… _agriculture_ instead of my very private sex life?!"

"Ancient cultures believed that sex magic enhanced the bounty of their crops. Feeling particularly virile, Draco?"

"I-but… _**FUCK!"**_

A rainbow-colored sock stuffed itself into Draco's mouth, again out of seemingly nowhere.

"Besides, there is nothing even remotely private about _YOUR_ sex life, Draco," Hermione pointed out blithely, passing him a long French baguette and a plate of individual butter pats. "Seeing as you apparently couldn't help yourself from going down on Luna right in the middle of King's Cross Station."

Draco dropped the butter plate to the floor, his face going even paler than normal before turning a particularly vivid shade of Gryffindor.

A gathering of baby booklets circled the fallen butter patties, looking rather forlorn at the shameful waste of perfectly good butter.

Draco recovered enough to wave his wand and fix the problem, but he was frazzled enough to hold his wand upside down, so while the butter was cleaned up, his tie enthusiastically tried to strangle him to death.

"Have you seen Uncle Severus?" Draco finally squeaked after a long struggle to subdue his tie.

Hermione shook her head. "I made sure they had plenty of food, tea, and nutritional supplements.

"Food, tea, and…" Draco repeated after her, obviously puzzled.

"Seems as father has successfully isolated the element that makes all good Asgardians and Jötunn very, _very_ happy with each other," Hermione said without a single beat missed. "Via thorough testing, of course. Apparently, Lady Ishea and Severus have far more in common than any of us ever suspected."

Draco's face seemed torn somewhere in-between the thought of mad, passionate sex and his uncle in the same situation, and his mind chose run off screaming into the night without leaving any forwarding address. " _ **What?"**_

"Oh, don't be such a silly prude, Draco," Hermione admonished him. "Not after what you and Luna did in the middle of Hyde Park. At least _father_ had the decency to properly ward his private rooms."

"My uncle is in a relationship with a giant blue woman?"

"Jötunn, Draco," Hermione corrected patiently. "And _THEY_ are currently in a very committed relationship, thanks to the manipulations of my sweet and well-meaning little serpentlets."

Draco was painfully silent and very pale.

"They are both very adept potions people. She's a healer. They have a great deal to base a life and relationship on. They know _exactly_ what they want, and they aren't afraid to just tell the other what that is. Honestly, it's about time. Father really needed someone other than me to talk about such things. Thor is planning to take him out to teach him how to properly brain a sabre-toothed frost cat and bring her back the appropriate teeth and claws. Other than that, all of the pertinent customs have been blissfully taken care of."

"But, this is _**Severus!**_ " Draco protested.

"Draco, love, do you _really_ want my father living for thousands and thousands of years cranky and alone?"

Draco's jaw dropped. "Well, no, but— wait, what do you _mean_ thousands?"

"Raina claimed him as her high priest, Draco. Do at least _try_ to keep up. He will live as long as she does. Not that I wouldn't have, eventually, but I _had_ wanted to at least breach the subject with a little more tact. Maybe over dinner or something. Oh well. Chalk one up for serpentlet enthusiasm. Bad enough that every single one of my ever-helpful spawn have wrapped themselves around Lady Frigga's and Minerva's hearts so tightly, I think they are both singing prayers of the faithful in their sleep. Vidar has his eye on claiming Minerva, and by eye I mean his mane, tail, wings, and heart. Naseem has Lady Frigga so thoroughly smitten, she could call the faith without even trying. I couldn't be more proud."

Draco finally shook the dumbfounded, gobsmacked look off his face. "How are you taking this faith business so _well_ , Hermione?"

Hermione tilted her head. "Perhaps when I found a little of my own, it opened the doors for others to share theirs too. Just a year ago, you'd never have caught me believing in such things, but a year ago I believed myself to be truly alone. Now, I've seen a great many wondrous things, and I can't help but think that it has brought people together in ways I never even dreamt it could."

"Besides," Hermione said after a moment. "Theo was trying to get me to believe in myself long before I even made the shift."

"Yeah, but he was joking," Draco huffed.

"Was he?" Hermione asked. "Any more than _Luna_ is joking?"

Draco paled, perhaps realising what he had just sounded like. "I'm sorry, Hermione, it's just— to me, gods were the things you revered and spoke of often, but you didn't just sit and have actual conversations with them. They didn't ever come down from on high and beat you upside the head with an overgrown hammer. I grew up with you, yeah? I have a pretty hard time seeing _you_ as—"

"Draco, I would never ask you to see me as anything but how you do," Hermione said thoughtfully. "But, even you have some faith, or you wouldn't be able to hear the serpentlets. You wouldn't have been able to hear _me_ , either."

It was Draco's turn to become thoughtful.

"Believing in something seems so much simpler when you are staring a baby quetzalcoatl in the face seven times over." Draco smiled a bit sheepishly.

Hermione grinned. "I think I figured out a lot of my soul searching the day I first laid an egg."

Draco spluttered, then laughed. "I'll give you that."

"It's okay, you know," Hermione said, sitting down in the nearby chair. "You don't have to wear your faith on your sleeve in order to have some. If anything, I've come to appreciate that big things come in small packages. Blessings aren't always obvious, you know? Sometimes, the role of what some consider to be divine is merely pointing out how simple things are really big things. Or the other way around. You wouldn't think Minerva is all that faithful on first glance, but she really is. She has a respect for the old ways that goes back a lot further than most. Then, you realise that she's practically a powerhouse of faith, and it's truly humbling. Knowing it was always there, just under the surface— yet I had never seen it so clearly."

"Father always spoke of the Old Ways," Draco said slowly. "But, I think I realise now that he was never faithful. It was purely a means to an end for him. I think most of the Pureblood rhetoric is floating away from their true meaning and shifting towards something twisted and custom made to fit the common desires of a very select few." Draco drew his hand across a baby booklet's cover, smiling as golden letters spelled out: _Contentment: Only Minutes a Day To a Better You_. The lime-coloured booklet purred happily, rubbing up against his fingers and getting tiny licks of paste on them. Draco scooped the booklet up and rubbed his nose against the little one's furry cover, and the booklet projected a number of furry hearts in return.

"Then again," Draco mused. "Perhaps faith comes from witnessing little things that shouldn't be possible, yet somehow _are_. Maybe it takes the hand of some meandering god, utterly bored one day, who happened to set into motion something far greater than even themselves. Maybe _that_ is what gods do; set random things into motion in ways that make us all the better and stronger for it. Or maybe it kills us— or turns your father into a slavering, mindless foaming-at-the-mouth book with serious… issues."

"That's pretty specific, love," Hermione said with a warm smile.

"I aim to please," Draco replied with a soft snort. "Moody says reversion of the curse requires true remorse, kind of like how you can't heal your soul after a killing curse unless you feel true remorse for what you did. Needless to say, my father isn't going to be anything un-furry and un-booky anytime _ever_. He's been changed long enough, he's not even human anymore— though that fact did help me make the decision to make Malfoy Manor over into the Asgardian Brothers' Brewery. I get a perverse kind of pleasure in knowing that father would be beside himself with rage and threatening to murder me over it."

"Your father wants you _dead_ and you find that comforting?" Hermione chuckled.

"Considering it means I am nothing like him, yes," Draco said with a quirk of a smile. "Come on, let's get this party started. I hope Uncle Severus is capable of walking a straight line to put in at least a token appearance."

"Swagger," Geir commented, slithering rapidly across the table with a pair of goblin goblets happily chasing after his tail.

"Strut," Yoki giggled as she righted the candlestick and ignited the ends of the candles with a puff of fire from her mouth.

Vidar and Naseem raced across the table, their manes poofing out as they slithered together, wings flapping just enough to propel them forward even faster. They carried a large teapot between them, balancing it between their coils.

Natsu popped up out of the flower pitcher, her bright scarlet snout flashing a shiny crimson enamel. She nudged aside the flowers in the pitcher and slithered out, using her nose to poke the flowers back into place. She breathed on the flowers, a cloud of celestial plasma circling around the petals and making the flowers expand and glow.

"Grandma Minerva is waiting for us!"

"I want her as my priestess!"

"You already have a priest!"

"I can have _both_!"

"No way, that's not fair! I want her as _my_ priestess!"

"Me too!"

"Can we time share?"

"Back to Grandma Minerva!" the serpentlets cried together, disappearing with a tell-tale _**FOOP**_ of mist and celestial plasma.

Draco eyed Hermione, who had a look of almost-smug pride on her face. "I rest my case."

* * *

"Welcome, my friends and family, to the grand opening of the Asgardian Brothers Brewery," Draco said, raising his glass to all that were gathered. "It is with no small amount of pride that we introduce our first line of new beverages to everyone, and I'm sure it goes without saying that the stretch of today's celebration goes farther than just the Wizarding World."

"My father once drilled into me that the very stones of this manor were set into place for the achievement of greatness, and I believe that what we are celebrating here today is about much more than merely extraordinarily tasty beverages. I believe that today is about the meeting of new friends and new family. May our drinks be a part of both our families and yours, reminding us that once upon a time, we all gathered together to share our lives. Perhaps, it was around a fire. Perhaps it was amongst our families, or perhaps, it was amongst friends new and old. Whatever the reason, welcomed guests, we invite you to partake of our drinks and food, good company, and good conversation. Celebrate with us the beginning of new relationships without the looming threat of war."

A roaring cheer went up in the main hall of the new Asgardian Brothers Brewery as human and non-human raised up their tankards in celebration.

* * *

_**Asgardian Brothers Brewery Provides Ample Fine Libations To All** _

_As of yesterday, the new Asgardian Brothers Brewery has opened its doors to the Wizarding World and beyond, or so their posters would have you believe. Their most famous and highly sought-after drink, a buttered scotch liqueur known as "Asgardian Aphrodisiac", has taken the Leaky Cauldron by storm, selling out in a matter of hours and then again as dozens of new kegs were flown in._

_Tom, the proprietor of the Leaky Cauldron, says business hasn't been booming like this since the end of the Wizarding War. People have come from many far off places, both Muggle and Wizarding, just to sample the new line of drinks. While other taverns have also put in to serve these drinks under contract, the Leaky Cauldron remains the main venue._

" _The Leaky Cauldron has been the mainstay of Wizarding Britain, a bridge between two worlds for as long as I can remember," Asgardian Brothers owner Draco Malfoy said in interview. "It is only right that it remain the centerstone of our business. This business is to be founded on friendship and family— and family is not always blood but who you choose for yourself."_

" _Mr Malfoy, is there any truth to the rumours that you have laced your drinks with a powerful aphrodisiac?"_

" _Extensive testing has gone into the creation of our new line of drinks," Mr Malfoy replied. "They are perfectly safe for all ages and cannot take away anyone's free-will or create anything that wasn't already there to begin with. That is the beauty of it. The secret ingredient lies within each drinker. Only you can tell us what that might be."_

" _So the question may be not what I put into my drinks but why YOU think our drinks possess aphrodisiac qualities, hrm?"_

* * *

Seven sets of bright, shiny eyes peered over the counter at Minerva, and she smiled as the serpentlets chittered hungrily from their perches. Faith energy meals aside, it had become Minerva's chosen task to prepare their food on alternating nights with Lady Frigga, sometimes with both women sharing the duty with relish.

She'd had them all watching her with rapt attention as she had prepared the sheep's lungs, liver, and heart as well as cutting the suet so fine it was like flour. She minced the onions as finely as any potions master, swirled fragrant spices over the mixture after sniffing them carefully, and then mixed it all together with the finest Scottish oatmeal. Sprinkling in a bit of pepper, salt, nutmeg, and mace, she had mashed it all together into the cleaned stomach, tying the ends together with string before poking holes in the sides to keep it from exploding.

Now, of course, it was the waiting game, and while the haggis was cooking in the pot, Minerva mashed and creamed the potatoes and turnips, amused by the serpentlets eagerly licking their chops in avid anticipation.

She broke up the mashing and creaming by making Abernethy biscuits, sifting the flour and baking powder into a butter mixture as she mixed in sugar and caraway seeds, eggs, and milk. The serpentlets tried to help her roll the dough, using their noses to help beat on it for her. They ended up with flour and caraway seeds all over, but Minerva just laughed and helped them help her.

"Someone is having entirely too much fun," a low voice rumbled amusedly as the Jötunn king bowed his way into the excited kitchen. The serpentlets rushed over to greet him, getting flour and caraway seeds all over him too. The giant shook his head, soothing each one on the mane with a surprisingly soft smile tugging at his lips.

"Hello, Lady Minerva," Laufey greeted the witch with a polite bow of his head. "I have been out hunting for the ever-hungry stomachs."

Minerva smiled at him. "Please, by all means, King Laufey," the elder witch said. "I'm sure the hungry stomachs will not protest."

The giant smiled swiftly, heaving up an impressive haul of fish on a string as well as as bundle of silver-white fur that seemed to have something carefully wrapped within. The scent of ice and brine was strong with just a hint of wood smoke. "If you will permit me?" Laufey said quietly. "I would honour your kitchen by giving you first taste of my hunt."

Minerva tilted her head. "I haven't ever been asked that before, laddie, but do whatever makes you feel at home."

Laufey unbundled the wrapped skin, exposing a goodly length of a fresh cut of fatty blubber and the meat of something that had a dark purple colour. He tugged a slender knife from his neck, deftly carving a choice piece from the bundle. He raised it to his face, sniffing it critically, and plucked it off the end of his knife with his fingers. He lifted the offering to Minerva's mouth. "With my own hands, I did take this life that others may live. I offer to you, to bless your kitchen, that life may be shared by all those who enter it. May they not ever leave hungry or wanting."

Minerva, flushing a little scarlet, gently took his offering from his fingers, chewed, and swallowed. Her eyes went wide. "I'm not quite sure what that was ye gave me, lad, but are most welcome in my kitchen anytime."

Laufey tilted his head, staring into Minerva's face with no small amount of curiosity and respect. "You honour me with your acceptance."

He gestured to the fish. "These are the rainbow ice-fish of the Sakondir. It is our tradition to smoke them immediately after catching them lest they burst into flames. And this—" Laufey gestured to the skin-wrapped bundle. "This is fresh blubber from the great ice-seal, one of the oldest traditional foods of my people. It is said that when Jötunheim was dark and still, even the fish were frozen in the waters. Only the ice-seal remained moving under the floes with the greater whale and a smattering of hungry sharks. Were it not for the seal and the whale, we would not have had oil for our lamps and food for our people. Whether this is entirely true or not seems irrelevant. The story remains."

"Well, I may be ignorant of a great many Jötunn customs, King Laufey," Minerva said, "but I know precisely what to make of a well-smoked fish when I smell one." She favoured him with a genuine smile as she gestured for him to sit, which the giant king did, if somewhat awkwardly.

The serpentlets excitedly whispered amongst themselves, nosing each other and looking back and forth between Minerva and Laufey, gears quickly turning in their little heads.

Minerva poured milk into a saucepan and heated the smoked fish in it, bringing it to a boil. She tended the pan until the fish began to flake when poked. She mixed some flour with some milk and then stirred that into the saucepan, cooking it until it became thick. She sprinkled in a fair amount of grated cheese, egg yolk, and flaked fish, seasoning it with pepper, salt, and a sprinkling of some mixture that seemed to be her go-to spice. She folded in an egg white and then poured the mixture on slices of toast, laying them out over a pan and using her wand to guide the pan to the stone hearth to grill.

The serpentlets bounced excitedly, licking their chops, knowing full well that anything Minerva made was going to be way more than merely edible.

As the batch of toasties cooked, Minerva swiftly set about preparing the blubber, cutting the skin and blubber into finely diced pieces. She breaded them, casting them into heated oil until they were golden brown, and then drained them.

She pulled out the toasties, the haggis, and the mashed neeps and tatties, dishing out servings for each of the serpentlets. The baby serpents bounced in place, eager, but knowing better than to dive in while grandma was watching them.

"And what do we say to the provider of our meal today?" Minerva asked them.

"Thank you, King Grandfather!" the serpentlets chimed together.

Laufey tilted his head. "And what do you say to the one who prepared your meal today?"

"Thank you, Grandmother Minerva!" the serpentlets chimed again.

"You may eat," Minerva said with a smile, chuckling as the young serpents promptly dove into their plates, licking them clean in their boundless enthusiasm. Within a few minutes, they were pleasantly plump and equally drowsy, barely able to drag their plates over to the sink filled with soapy water. Minerva helped them scrub their plates and set them in a rack to rinse and dry, ruffling each serpentlet with tender touches.

They were all limp, sleepy balls of scales and feathers within minutes, and Minerva tenderly tucked them into their shared rookery. They snuggled up with each other almost immediately, radiating well-fed contentment.

As Minerva shuffled back into the kitchen, she noticed that the Jötunn king had not moved from his perch. He sat on the stool with the stillness of the dead, his startling crimson eyes watching her with a deep, pulsing glow. "You too must be hungry, King Laufey. Will you allow me to fix you a plate?"

The Jötunn tilted his head. "As long as I am not the only one eating."

"Rest assured," Minerva replied with a smile, "I am quite hungry myself."

Minerva busied herself by dishing up a plate for the Jötunn king, passing him the best morsels that the serpentlets hadn't taken. She poured him a drink and set it beside him before making a plate for herself. Sneakily, Minerva waved her hand over a row of curious pepper shakers, and they turned into a plate of jam-covered biscuits. She placed a few on Laufey's plate with an amused wink.

The Jötunn nibbled on the biscuit with a raised brow, a tug of a smile on his blue lips. "I'd imagine you have learned to be very creative with hiding food from hungry babies with bottomless stomachs."

"I'd probably feel bad if they weren't more than stuffed all of the time," Minerva replied with a soft chuckle. "But I think we both know that hungry serpentlets only _think_ they are always starving."

"A very long time ago, my mate once believed that an entire ice floe full of whales would not feed our son and daughter, for surely they would never stop eating. I brought her the richest blubbers to feed her so she could in turn feed our children well, and yet she swore upon the gods and the ice and snow that it _still_ wouldn't be enough. Never had I worked so hard to bring plentiful meat to the table, but I believed nothing could keep me from their sides." Laufey looked thoughtful. "And what of you, Lady Minerva. Did you have a mate? Children?"

Minerva sipped her tea and sighed deeply. "I was once in love with a man who was not magical, and I was given the ultimatum that I could either live with him and never be able to use magic again or live a life with it— leaving him behind. By then, magic was far too ingrained in my life for me to ever give it up. There was another man, whom I had come to love, and we married. Yet only a few years after, he was killed after being bitten by a venomous tentacula— a very dangerous plant— and I was left without him as well. And, until fairly recently, our world was at war and that was no time to raise a family. I then chose to dedicate myself to education— teaching."

Laufey looked thoughtful. "When war came knocking on my door, I led my people on the front lines, freezing our enemies that my people would come to prevail. And in my anger and eagerness to face battle up front, war took my mate and my children— crushed in the rubble of the winter throne. The healers cut my unborn child from my mate's womb, hoping to save it, but in my grief, I was unable to embrace him. All I could see was my dead mate and our dead children—and a premature runt of a babe as all that was left to me. I cast him down beside the Casket of Ancient Winters and walked away into the depths of our wastelands, where I did starve myself for years in my pain and guilt for not having been there for my mate when she needed me the most."

"That son… was Loki?" Minerva asked quietly.

Laufey nodded grimly. "My runt of a son— was born to be a _god_."

Minerva looked into Laufey's face, staring at the creases and lines on his face. "I'm no expert on fate, King Laufey," she said quietly, "but perhaps, while not ideal at the time, there was a reason things happened as they did. Had your son not been adopted by your enemy, he would never have met she that would one day become our Hermione. Perhaps that is something the Norns might know better. I cannot say for certain, but had Loki not been of Ásgarðr, _believing_ himself of Ásgarðr, he would likely never have met Lady Idonia. Had he not met Lady Idonia, she would not have been cast out of Ásgarðr and he would never have had his emotional breakdown. He wouldna have been cast out, and he wouldna have found her again. I'm nay sayin' it was the perfect choice. I'm not even sayin' it was the best way to handle things at the time, but maybe— just maybe— things have a way of workin' out as they should."

Minerva cast a glance to where the serpentlets were snoozing away peacefully. "All you have to do is look in there to realise just how much you still have. What you still _can_ have."

Laufey's crimson eyes flickered with emotion. "You are a very wise woman, Lady Minerva," he said quietly. "I will think on what you have said." He took her hand and brought it to his mouth, pressing his lips gently to the back of her hand. "I would show you the lands of my people, if you would humour an old, battle-scarred giant."

Minerva smiled. "Bring it on, laddie. I haven't taken a holiday in over a hundred years."

Laufey stood, extending his arm to her. "You are remarkably brave in the face of the unknown. I must be careful that others do not catch on to your willfulness and skill, lest I have to bury their skulls in the ice for the right to walk with you unmolested."

Minerva laughed. "Oh, lad. No one would be fighting over an old cat like me," she said with amusement. "You needn't worry."

Laufey's crimson eyes met hers warmly. "Do not be so sure," he said as his hand covered hers, and she looped her arm around his. He guided her out of the kitchen and toward the portal to Jötunheim.

Seven sets of eyes cautiously peered up and over the edge of the rookery nest. The serpentlets hissed excitedly, tails slapping each other in a high-tail display of congratulatory glee.

"Think he will dance for her?"

"Maybe he'll sing to her!"

"Will she sing back?"

"Do you think they'll be done by breakfast?"

"I dunno, they might need a little time first!"

"What's a _little_ time?"

"Not a whole lot of time?"

"How long is that?"

"I dunno…"

"Why don't we ask Mum and Dad?"

"We could ask Uncle Thor!"

"Shh! Shh!"

"Someone's coming."

"Quick, everyone pretend to be asleep!"

As Lady Frigga walked in to check up on the sleeping baby serpents, her motherly senses sent up a curious radar. She carefully tucked them all in and closed the door, feeling like she was forgetting something or some _one_. "I'm sure it will come to me in good time," she muttered, wandering back to her private quarters.

* * *

Frigga noticed a distinctly lessened air of disdain as she walked into the infirmary to check on the Warriors Three, Sif, a number of unfortunate royal guards that had unwisely joined them via the Bifröst gating, and one near-mummified goddess of fidelity. All of them were in full body casts, but Frigga couldn't help but think the lot of them were doing well enough considering they had all taken the beating of a lifetime from a raging, protective Quetzalcoatl father and an equally furious mother.

The greatest surprise, however, had been Jane's rampaging fury at the endangerment of the serpentlets. She had taken up Mjölnir and proceeded to beat in faces like a professional— if there was even such a thing as a professional facebeater. Frigga had always preferred the use of magic tricks and dagger play, the tools of the more subtle trade. There was something to be said about righteous motherly fury, however, and Jane had more than proven herself by breaking almost every possible bone in the invading Asgardian party.

Her husband was probably fit to be tied— sitting there on his golden throne wondering what in Helheim had happened. Frigga confessed she was quite amused by that particular mental image, even if she didn't confess that fact out loud. Royal propriety and all that. Still, she was enjoying her little jaunts to Miðgarðr far more than most knew. Even the members of her personal guard were in love with the serpentlets— providing no small amount of faith feeding for the little charmers. They had quite literally hatched onto an openly adoring audience, and Frigga could only approve with how naturally they wrapped themselves around the hearts of everyone they encountered. She could really expect no less from her son's children— especially with a such a wonderful mother like Hermione, the one-time Lady Idonia.

Her son had carefully protected Lady Idonia's identity, even from her, and after having found out what Odin had done when he had found out— she couldn't really fault Loki for having done so. Yet, as she was now learning, Jötunn could no more deny their need for their mate than their own need to _breathe—_ the agony of the breaking of his mating bond being what had not only driven Laufey half-mad with grief, but had caused him to abandon his newborn premature son to the ice and snow and then exiling himself to the barren wastes to mourn the loss of his mate and that of his other children.

Frigga, despite having held a grudge for over a thousand years against the "monster" who could abandon such a wonderful son as Loki, realised that there were a great many things about Jötunn culture and the nature of their physiology that was still very alien and far apart from Asgardian norms. While the typical Asgardian was, at least behind closed doors, quite capable of great intimacy and compassionate touch, Jötunn truly _needed_ it. Their unique needs had been forged over untold millennia spent living in the icy wastes of Jötunheim. Bonds had to remain strong and powerful to support the couple through long periods of time spent away on epic hunts— insuring that when reunited, the pair's bond would still be as strong as ever, both committed to the joint raising of their children. Take away one part of that, and the system simply broke down, to devastating result.

Loki _needed_ Hermione as much as he needed air, food, and drink. He literally could not go on, and would have eventually gone mad without her, twisting into a cruel parody of the loving son that she knew he was. And Lady Idonia, cast out of Ásgarðr and stripped of everything that that had marked her as one of their own, would have pined herself away to nothing— forever calling out to the mate who sang in her very blood.

And it had all had been done in a desperate effort to protect Loki from ever finding out that he was not Asgardian, but Jötunn.

While Frigga certainly understood why her Lord Husband wished to protect Loki from himself, neither of them had any idea of the biological and psychological needs of their adopted son. Odin had merely gone ahead and arranged for his son's marriage, hoping that being wed to a suitably well-bred Asgardian woman would settle him down and keep the secret forever at bay. But Loki had already made his choice of mate— just as inevitable as the return of the solar winds. Idonia had, unknowingly, through her love, sealed a peace between their peoples without the ties of duty or obligation. She had accepted her Jötunn lover and mate for no other reason than her genuine love for Loki himself.

She had defied thousands of years' worth of built-up hatred, bigotry and prejudice and had been heedlessly cast out of Ásgarðr for her open-hearted acceptance. Then Loki had fallen into madness at the sudden loss of his beloved Idonia, and Muninn had stolen away all of his memories of her as well as her memories of him. Only tattered fragments had remained— fragments and the gaping psychic wounds.

Frigga watched as Lady Ishea carefully tended the number of badly injured Asgardians who would be spending plenty of quality time in traction, renewing their ice casts and pouring potions down their mouth-holes. In Ásgarðr, they would have been laid up under a energized force-field and set upon by a team of healers wielding the most cutting-edge of Asgardian medical technology. But here, it was all about old fashioned healing, save for the fact they were regrowing bones. Sound, at least for the quetzalcoatls was a weapon unto itself. As surely as Hermione's song could lure Loki from the very depths of Helheim, their song could transform into a deadly thing that could cut, shatter, and atomise whenever the two were foolishly crossed.

Thus was the touch of the gods.

Theirs was the touch that healed.

Theirs was the touch of divine vengeance.

Frigga sighed softly, wondering when she had settled into this peaceful acceptance of something far greater than herself. She found herself accepting a great many new things of late: the love of her quetzalcoatl son and his mate, a bundle of enthusiastic serpentlets, a future daughter-in-law who successfully brained an entire team of Asgardian warriors with the power of the God of Thunder, and the fact that there was a great deal more to their ancient adversaries, the Jötunn, than thousands of years of misunderstanding had ever permitted them to realise.

And Frigga only had to look at the scene before her— watching the gentle touch between a human wizard and an Jötunn healer, each with their own vast collection of battle scars, to realise things were truly changing. Ásgarðr had to rise and adapt or be left hopelessly behind. And if anything proved the power of human resilience and adaptability, Frigga saw it there in front of her every day now: love.

She was no goddess of love, yet she was not untouched by it. Humans, Jötunn and Asgardians, none were perfect. Even the gods were not perfect. But the _true_ gods adapted to suit the changing needs of their people, even as the people strived to become ever better for their gods. The dynamic was constant, fluid, living. That was something her own people had lost sight of, maintaining that essential fluid dynamic between the gods and the faithful.

Frigga, however, was quickly learning that one could have faith and yet still be a god. She was the goddess of marriage, but that did not exclude her from being one of the faithful in service to her son's family. Service was hardly imprisonment, either. She was happy to be close to her family. She was glad to be of the same heart as the growing Naseem. There was joy in her heart in knowing that now and a thousand years from now, her bond to one emerald and gold quetzalcoatl would remain strong— great joy and relief.

She would get to see her grand serpents grow up on their own terms, in their own timeline. Faith didn't seem like such a terribly unreasonable price for such a wondrous gift.

As Frigga entered the kitchen, however, she was reminded distinctly of a very young Thor and Loki attempting to make breakfast for their parents, only instead of using her beauty powder for flour, the kitchen was literally covered in _actual_ flour. Grey-scaled Yoki's orange belly was coated with fried onions, and moonstone-coloured Geir was equally covered in a liberal amount of cherry preserves. Natsu' scarlet snout was slathered with what looked like baked beans, and chopped parsley was all over her downy mane. Vidar had supplemented his own mane with pieces of black pudding, turning every so often to snap at the remnants as he wielded a frying pan of sizzling back bacon, flipping it expertly with his tail.

Raina and Itzel were evidently on sausage duty. One was holding and moving the frying pan about with her tail, and the other was turning the sausages with a spatula grasped tightly between her jaws. Vidar was frying up tomatoes and mushrooms, and Naseem was guarding the perfectly toasting bread on the hearth.

Seven sets of shining serpentine eyes suddenly stared up at Frigga, their bodies frozen as they were caught in the act of "cooking".

Frigga, without missing a single beat, calmly picked up the egg-frying pan and set to work, allowing the serpentlets to continue their endeavours to make a full English breakfast all on their own. She had to admit that they were quite talented for creatures without hands. Considering what they were capable of without hands, she wondered what would happen the on the day they decided to shapeshift themselves into something a little more hands-friendly.

Their father _was_ the God of Mischief, after all.

* * *

Draco and Harry stared rather blearily at each other across their plates of eggs. Theo practically shoved mugs of hot black coffee into their faces, lifting their chins so they wouldn't drown but not enough to actually help them drink it.

"You two are totally pathetic," Theo said, shaking his head. "I swear if I wasn't already partnered up with you both, I'd have to write you off as utterly worthless."

"Just because you have your morning apostrophes doesn't mean _we_ have to," Draco grumbled into his coffee.

"Epiphanies, idiot," Theo said, rolling his eyes.

"Whatever," Draco burbled.

"Did your IQ automatically leak out of your ears along with that thirtieth drink?" Theo pulled Draco up by the hair and stared at him. Draco just stared blankly at him, drooling out of the corner of his mouth. "Disgusting," he sighed, dropping Draco back down into his coffee. "I swear you revert to the likes of Crabbe and Goyle every time you drink."

A pale hand swung around Draco's face and yanked his head back. Severus scowled down at Draco, stuffing a sealskin filled with "something" into his mouth. "Drink," he ordered the younger wizard.

Draco spluttered, his arms flailing wildly.

Severus curled his lip at him, moved over to Harry and the black-haired wizard got the exact same treatment. Harry spluttered and coughed, nearly aspirating his own dose of the concoction.

"Pathetic," Snape informed him, his words dripping with derision, then he dropped the small sealskin bladder on the top of the table as he hoisted a much larger bundle wrapped in the still warm and steaming sealskin of a fresh hunt. "I leave you alone for half a night and you can't even dress yourself properly in the morning." He pinched the front of Draco's shirt which was conveniently located on the wrong side of him. "House elves on strike, hrm?"

Draco flushed. "You know as well as I that we gave them a break for the festivities as to not insult the… foreign guests."

"Far be it for me to give grave insult to any of our— foreign guests," Snape drawled lazily, eyeing Draco with mild interest as the younger man suddenly flushed an even deeper shade of beetroot.

Severus tugged the sinew tie off of the steaming bundle, a flash of his charmed silver dagger glinting in his hand. He carved the skin and blubber deftly, not even looking at where he was guiding the knife. "I have hunted the great ice-seal that you might never go hungry. I have survived the fangs and claws of the sabre-toothed beast and have brought them as my offerings to you, that the creature's ivory may adorn your lovely neck. I filled the bladder of the Harkurauk with the waters from the highest and purest glaciers on Jötunheim, those waters which purify any poison or disease that might plague yourself or those you cherish. I offer you to you the food obtained from my hunt, today and every day until I take my very last breath."

Severus slammed an enormous rune-carved tooth of something huge into the middle of the table.

Lady Ishea leaned over and ate the sliver of seal skin and blubber off of Severus' silver knife, her blue hand wrapping around the carved tooth as she yanked it off the table. She hung it from a chain around her neck as her crimson eyes glowed brightly. "I accept you as my mate and husband. Hunter. Provider. Sire of our future children." She carved a sliver from the carcass and tenderly fed Severus from her own fingers.

Severus bowed his head formally as Thor strode into the breakfast dining area, carrying what could only be described as the most gargantuan slab of seal that shouldn't been able to fit through the door and yet somehow _did_. Thor made a formal, courtly bow, and heaved the carcass onto the main breakfast table. "I bring the results of Severus' hunt that all may witness his most impressive prowess this day. I, Thor of Ásgarðr, hereby state that I did watch him fell the beast entirely on his own. It was my great honour to assist him in carrying it here that our honoured guests may partake of his most successful hunt."

The Jötunn stomped their feet in appreciation and roared their overwhelming approval throughout the halls of Malfoy Manor. Sounds of congratulations and undeniable approval came in multiple forms— shoulder clasping, back thumping, and the sharing of carving duties in which to share and partake of the food from the still-steaming carcass.

Harry and Draco immediately paled and fled for the lavatory. Theo, on the other hand, didn't hesitate to break bread and make fresh toasties, sharing them with their other Jötunn guests.

"Well done, father," Hermione said with a smug, Cheshire cat grin. "Even _**I**_ didn't rate a fresh seal and traditional ivory carving."

Severus flushed crimson.

Loki wrapped his arms around Hermione's waist from behind. "I am more than happy to hunt frost-seal for you, my love," he purred into her ear. "As well as prove my own prowess in procuring carved ivory for your utterly edible neck."

Hermione blushed a most becoming shade of Gryffindor. "That won't be necessary."

"Hnn," Loki purred. "Are you quite sure?"

Hermione flushed again, even deeper.

Loki pressed his head tenderly to hers. "It would be… so not a problem."

The couple was then, unfortunately, interrupted by the arrival of an owl, which had apparently been blocked from the main banquet hall. There was a shuddering _**pop**_ as the far shutters suddenly burst open, and a flood of owls of all shapes and sizes came tumbling out, hooting frantically.

Theo caught one owl before it fell into their breakfast or _became_ breakfast for one of the hungry Jötunn. He gestured to Hermione and Loki frantically, knowing that there had to be a good a reason as to why the birds had been banned from the main banquet hall. Irritated Jötunn were starting to reach for their weapons, obviously annoyed by the vast number of swooping, hooting birds.

Hermione pulled out her wand, and with a powerful rush of both celestial power and her own magic, she banished the hooting cacophony out of the breakfasting area, sweeping from the room in the manner of her father, her robes billowing behind her like a banner. Loki swept out behind her, the flow of his robes matching hers in both dramatic flare and gravity defiance.

The gathered serpentlets, which had been garnering food from all the guests lowered their heads and tried to make themselves look unobtrusive and easily ignored.

"Uh-oh," Natsu said, her tail twitching nervously.

"Mummy isn't happy," Yoki said fearfully.

"If mummy isn't happy, then daddy isn't happy either," Geir said knowingly, hunkering down next to the tempting selection of jams and jellies on offer.

Thankfully, the celebration kicked right back into high gear with the removal of the offending parliament of owls.

Severus pulled his robes across his chest with a habitual tug.

"Would this be a bad time to tell Grandpa Severus that Grandma Minerva and Grandpa Laufey haven't come back yet from their walk last night?" Vidar asked quietly, lurking next to the towering sausage pile.

Severus' eyebrow twitched. " _ **What?**_ "

"Rut-roh," Naseem squeaked, pulling Vidar by the tail to hide behind a large vase of flowers.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "I swear to _Merlin_ , we can't leave that dotty old man alone for a single weekend without the shite hitting the fan, taking off the roof, and then setting the entire castle on fire. Five to one that it somehow involves bloody Hagrid, harmless creatures that aren't harmless at _all_ , and requires some sort of custom-made salve to be created by yours truly to repair the resultant damage."

"When do _**I**_ get to meet this marvel of a man?" Ishea asked, her crimson eyes widening with curiosity.

"Never," Severus hissed. "He will try to hire you, and then you will _never_ be free of him."

"How long to wizards usually live anyway?" Ishea asked interestedly.

"Albus Dumbledore is akin to a cockroach, my lady," Severus muttered. "Cut off his head, and he will still be running around like nothing significant has changed at all."

Ishea looked rather impressed.

"That is _not_ a good thing!" Severus insisted.

"Jötunn do appreciate the will to survive against all odds," Ishea noted.

Severus just shook his head. "There is survival, and then there is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Minerva would call it sheer dumb luck."

* * *

**There were owls… everywhere. There were owls dangling from the curtains, owls in the cabinets, owls in the tea service, and owls in every single window.**

" _ **Ragghhhhhhhhh!"**_ Hermione raged.

Owls were sitting on the chairs, the tables, the candlestick holders—

They filled the crevices, getting their scroll-wrapped legs stuck in random places. They hooted and carried on, some in distress while others were not.

"No, they won't go away because Minerva isn't here to take the owls' messages!" Hermione growled, sounding more like her father than the kinder and more compassionate witch she was normally known as.

Rith and Grim were snapping irritably at the owls, driving them away from their booklets. Violet was squirming under a particularly chunky owl with a disgruntled look on her oval face.

_**RrrrrRRRrrRRR!** _

Nip!

Nip!

**CHOMP!**

**HOOOOOT!**

The owl tried desperately to move, but his talons were all tangled up in Violet's fur, and the owl trip-walked, smooshing poor Violet with each drunken stagger. Rith and Grim tore off after the offending owl, their covers snapping, eyes blazing, and teeth flashing menacingly. Owl feathers flew wildly in every direction. The infuriated books promptly started de-feathering all of the owls within range, driving the frantic owls to vacate their perches and flee to higher ground.

_**RrrrRRRR!** _

Rith and Grim growled at them, bouncing up and down on the table as if preparing to launch themselves from the ground up.

Loki rubbed his temples wearily. "What will it take to get these annoying feathered messengers to finally cease and desist?"

Then Loki froze, a wicked grin spreading across his handsome face. He waved his hand toward Rith, Grim, and Violet.

Ffffffff **POP!**

Each book sprouted a pair of wings. At first, Rith and Grim kept at the bouncing and snapping at the owls, but Violet immediately figured out she had evolved and promptly zoomed off after the owls, her wings beating wildly as she snap, snap, snapped after the offending avians.

Grim and Rith seemed to take a moment to reassess what normality was, beat their new wings, and zoomed off after Violet, screeched to a halt in mid-air, and tore off in random directions after the stubbornly persistent birds. The owls hooted in clear distress, utterly unused to being harassed via both land and air, and proceeded to fly out of the main vestibule of Malfoy Manor just as fast as their wings could carry them.

Hermione eyed Loki somewhat suspiciously.

Loki wore his best, polished halo and his sweetest, most angelic smile.

"Hnn," Hermione grunted, one eyebrow raised much like her father's. "I don't believe that in any way, shape, or form."

Loki pouted at her, sticking out a quivering bottom lip for effect. "Such a sad lack of faith, my lady wife."

"On the contrary," Hermione said rather archly. "I have utter faith in the fact that that even enchanted books don't simply sprout wings and chase away owls without any help whatsoever from you, love."

Loki tilted his head to the side. "You _did_ want the owls gone, did you not? Just think of all the time I saved you from having to pick all the little bones from your teeth."

"So you _do_ admit to having tampered a bit with book evolution, hrm?"

Loki's jaw dropped a little. "Point for you, my lady wife."

* * *

"This isn't right," Harry groaned, sipping his hangover cure mixed with strong black coffee in a vain attempt to make his pounding headache go away. "I don't care _what_ Snape said was in that sealskin bladder—"

"Maybe you just made yourself immune to the hangover cure, mate," Draco said, rubbing his eyes. "Severus isn't the type to say something is what it's not."

"There is no way I'm immune to the hangover cure," Harry protested grumpily. "I'm just still sick from having witnessed people eating some raw seal-thing off the breakfast table."

Draco grunted. "It shouldn't have bothered me after some of the tartare parties father had."

"Your _father_ had—"

"Father had a great many kinds of parties, Potter," Draco said with a long sigh. "What's one more on top of all that?"

Harry frowned, staring moodily into his drink. "Parties should never include the eating of disgusting raw things."

"Oh, get over it, Potter," Theo said, sitting down at the table. "Lady Ishea, this is Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy."

"Ahh, the other two proprietors of the Asgardian Brothers Brewery," the Jötunn female said with a smile. "Such chaos falls in the wake of your liberal libations."

"Wh-whuuut?" Harry slurred.

"You'll have to excuse poor Potter here," Theo said, smacking Harry soundly upside the head. "He lost his manners along with his sense somewhere around drink number thirty."

Ishea frowned. "My mate fed you the purest waters of Jötunheim carried in the bladder of the Harkurauk. You should not be suffering—from continued intoxication."

She placed the back of her hand to Harry's forehead. "Are either of you feeling feverish at all? Maybe nauseated?"

"Definitely nauseated," Harry groaned miserably.

"Are you like the Dahge bird? Could you possibly be pregnant?"

Harry choked on his toast. "No. Definitely _not_."

"I dunno, mate," Theo said. "You _did_ share drinks with that half-giant, Hagrid, earlier—"

"Half-giant?" Ishea asked, curiously.

Harry looked up blearily. "Hagrid's mum was a giant, but his dad was human."

Ishea looked confused. "How is that possible?"

Harry blinked. "No offence, Lady Ishea, but— you and Snape—"

Ishea shook her head. "But that's precisely the point, Harry Potterson," she explained. "When a Jötunn takes a mate in willing consummation there is a merging of essence, of soul. There are no half-giants because there are no half-matings. A child of a Jötunn is a Jötunn. A mate of a Jötunn is a Jötunn."

The three wizards looked towards Severus and stared somewhat dubiously.

Ishea shook her head. "It is a lifetime commitment. Is this not so for your own people? Jötunn do not… divorce. It is why we must feel the bond long before the claim is made. It would be… unspeakable to abandon ones mate after such—"

"Giants here on Miðgarðr are—" Theo struggled for the right words. "They are not the kind of people you can reason with. I swear that I do not say this to be insulting. They are not known for deep conversation, honour, or dedication to the welfare of their own mates or even their children. They— have also been known to rape indiscriminately, and then beat their progeny until they are either dead or mean enough to survive."

Ishea looked utterly horrified. "And this Hagrid—"

"Hagrid is kind of an odd case," Harry said, scratching his head. "His giantess mother abandoned him not long after birth, and his wizard father died very young. Some of us think— Hagrid doesn't really know his own strength or anyone else's either. He means well enough, but he never learned and doesn't understand that creatures that might not be dangerous for him can be a serious danger to everyone else."

The Jötunn healer's face went from blank shock to frank disgust. "I have no right to judge," she said slowly, forcing back her instinctive disgust. "Long has my own people's culture been misjudged by others. I will not be guilty of the same, but I do not believe that you would knowingly lie to me about this Hagrid's kind."

A flutter of black robes signalled Severus' arrival as he sat down next to Ishea. His pale fingers lightly traced the runic markings on Ishea's hand as he soothed her, noting the unmistakable signs of distress in her face and posture. "Rubeus Hagrid is a man with far more heart than sense," he said. "He will make you feel bad for him even as he sets dangerous animals loose upon random schoolchildren. He ordered a violent, dangerously enchanted book for his students because he thought it was cute, but he neglected to tell anyone how to handle it until countless students found themselves in the infirmary with a good deal more nasty paper cuts than any one person should ever have. While our local furry book collection possesses both personality and sense— let us just say that the _Monstrous Book of Monsters_ had many more casualties than fans, much as with most of his classes."

"He… _taught_ younglings?"

"Attempts to, yes."

Ishea seemed to struggle with that chain of thought, and decided that staring at the nearby food was far more productive.

Severus, wordlessly, carved her off a piece and tenderly drew it to her mouth, which she accepted with a shy smile.

"I look forward to sampling your prowess upon the furs, my mate. Perhaps, we can find a willing elder to bear witness to the validity of our union?"

Harry and Draco both turned green, but whether it was because Severus was feeding the female healer raw seal meat or because Severus was acting the tender lover— no one really knew for sure. When Ishea, equally tenderly, fed Severus a piece of seal, Harry and Draco groaned together and attempted in vain to make themselves one with the table.

"You really should try it before you denounce it," Severus said with a resigned sigh, observing Draco's and Harry's antics with a strange sort of tolerance. "It actually tastes quite decadent in its raw form, which cooking oddly seems to lessen. Perhaps it is the nature of the beast itself, which would normally never be seen outside of a frozen environment."

Severus carved off a small piece with his silver knife, extending it outward in invitation.

Harry and Draco flinched.

Theo, however, plucked it off the end of the knife and ate it. "Merlin! It tastes like lobster dripping with garlic butter sauce! Sign me up for the next hunt!" Theo seemed to notice that a small group of young Jötunn females were eyeing him quite positively after he bravely partook of their traditional fare with gusto. "Excuse me, gentlemen," Theo said, adjusting his collar. "I think I'm going to go introduce myself to the ladies."

Severus snorted, shaking his head at Draco and Harry. "Your friend obviously embraces the new and different far more easily than you two dunderheads."

"I can't help it, Uncle," Draco moaned. "I'm still seeing double. Triple even."

Severus' face suddenly became quite serious. He pulled out his wand and waved it over them. "I fed you both the purest glacial waters of Jötunheim. You shouldn't be feeling the effects of any type of poison or disease— and that includes intoxication. Thousands of people were knackered to the point of spewing truly dreadful poetry and fornicating heedlessly in the hallways, but none of them are suffering now. What in Merlin's name did the two of you get into?"

" _ **Nothing!"**_ the two wizards swore together.

Severus' eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Believe you, I do not." He waved his wand slowly over their respective abdomens and his wand flashed bright pink and blue.

" _ **What?!"**_ the boys blurted together in panic. "What does that _**mean?!**_ "

Raina popped her head up from the nearby salad bowl, sending bits of lettuce and chunks of Roma tomatoes flying in all directions. "You're pregnant!" she cheered, her wings flapping in glee.

Naseem popped out of the fruit and cheese tray, cubes of cheese and fresh berries zinging out to pelt Harry and Draco in their heads. "Oooooo, you must dance _really_ well!"

Geir slithered out of a gigantic loaf of bread, having hollowed it out from the inside. "Did you sing?"

Itzel slithered over and lay her head up against their fabric-covered abdomens, listening carefully. Draco tried to shove her away, but she had virtually velcroed herself to his skin in sheer tenacity. "I count at least four!" she said proudly. "Someone check my count!"

Natsu slithered up and stuck her head on their bellies. "Confirmed!"

"OoooOoo!" Yoki cheered.

Lady Ishea scratched her head in confusion. "They informed me that males of your species do not carry their young when I suggested that they _might_ be pregnant."

Severus arched a brow. "At this point, my lady, these two could be mutating into some kind of man-eating fungus beast and it wouldn't surprise me at all."

Draco and Harry, however, had chosen that moment to faint dead away onto the floor.

Severus let out a weary sigh. "They just _had_ to find a way to postpone our happy nuptials."

"Fear not, my mate," Lady Ishea said. "I'm greatly looking forward to thousands of years of joyous celebration. What is a few more days?"

Severus flushed, his pale skin turning a rather dashing shade of pink.

"Wake up, Uncle!" Geir said, biting Harry on the nose.

Natsu and Itzel were pegging Draco in multiple places. "Wakey, wakey!"

* * *

By the time Draco and Harry had recovered enough blood flow to their brains to regain consciousness, Severus and Ishea had propped them up on their own settees out in the garden for a little sun and fresh air.

"It seems like their skin was penetrated by some type of sucker," Ishea said, having examined their bellies more closely. "I hadn't noticed it before due to their many protests to the contrary."

"I've seen that sort of wound before," Severus answered, running his pale hand through his black hair with a grunt. "They're from a type plant we call the Venomous Tentacula."

"Is it typical for that type of creature to impregnate non-species hosts?"

"Typical? No." Severus wrinkled his nose at the thought. "But that really means nothing in the Wizarding world."

"You have such strange things on Miðgarðr," Ishea commented. "Birds that carry messages, yet they look like the Harutauk, which we must kill on sight, lest they come back in greater numbers and steal from our hidden food caches."

"Yet strangely we have so many similarities," Severus said with a grim smile.

"Yes," Ishea agreed. "And I find that I am very glad of that."

"Well, the good news is that I can numb the area and extract the baby tentacula seedlings and all those strange drunken hangover symptoms will instantly disappear," Severus said. "The bad news is, I can extract the baby tentacula seedlings and all those strange drunken hangover symptoms _will_ instantly disappear."

"That's not very nice, father," Hermione laughed as she walked in with a crystal tray of what appeared to be ice-jellyfish cut into rings and seasoned with minced shallots and lime juice. "I have also brought the two of you a light snack."

"You are a true blessing upon this Realm," Ishea praised with a slight bow as she took the tray. "How did you know that I _love_ ice-jellyfish?"

Hermione smiled warmly. "You dream of them, my Lady Ishea."

Ishea smiled. "Your kind consideration honours me, Lady Hermione."

Hermione grinned. "Besides. What sort of daughter would I be if I neglected the prayers of my father's mate?" Hermione held out her hand, pressing a closed shell into Ishea's open palm.

Ishea set down the tray for a moment and opened the shell to expose a glimmering inner surface. Her eyes went wide. "You found a floe oyster!"

"A blessing upon your mating," Hermione told her with a knowing smile. "Elder Hakon was kind enough to tell me what was traditionally given to a new couple to… help, ah, seal the deal with a fertile outcome. Not that my father will need any additional encouragement, of that I'm quite certain."

Severus was flushing very red as he busied himself with extracting the tentacula seedlings from his godson's abdomen.

Hermione knelt beside her busy father and gently pressed something into his hand, staying his wand for a moment as he tried desperately to think of England. "This is for you, father."

Severus stared into his palm and then looked at her, emotion swimming in his eyes. There in his hand was a silver framed pendant made from one of her progeny's egg-shards— exactingly carved and enchanted to allow a Jötunn to walk easily amongst those of Miðgarðr.

Severus choked back a cry and crushed Hermione to himself, pressing his nose into her thick, warm mane of feathers and curls. Hermione radiated absolute, unconditional love with the warmth of the solar winds, her phantom wings wrapping around her father with nothing but the purest of affection and respect.

Meanwhile, the collection of baby Venomous Tentacula seedlings leaned over and bit Draco squarely on the arse.

* * *

The air in the garden grew heavy with cold and frost as the portal to and from Jötunheim suddenly activated, and two figures stepped through. Albino peafowl frantically scattered out of the way as blue feet touched the ground, wrapped only in a swirl of leather and fur that seemed more for show than any kind of practical use.

The Jötunn king stepped free of the portal's swirling snows, seemingly unaffected by the cold yet disturbed, perhaps, by the utter lack of it in the garden. His arm stretched outward as a slim feminine figure took her place by his side. Soft, fluffy fur hung from her shoulders, dripping with the claws and teeth of a great, vicious frost-beast, icy jewels, and intricately wrapped crystals. Her elegant head crests were deeply carved, much like Laufey's own, and intimately wrapped by a living crown of ice.

As she moved, crystals tinkled gently, a delicate cover of soft seal-skin adorning her breasts and hanging from her belt in a flowing loincloth trimmed in pristine blue-white fur. Her deep blue skin, mottled with aegean spots, shimmered with radiant good health. Runic markings flowed across her flesh in a seamless tapestry. Her eyes, as deep as sangria, glowed with a hint of bright ruby. Her long hair— as white as the most pristine snowfall— fell about her shoulders in tightly woven warbraids, almost covering the dark, mottled almost-stripes that swirled both within and outside of her distinctive Jötunn runic markings.

The couple moved as one without speaking, brushing by those in the garden as though they were not even there. They moved into the next room, and King Laufey inclined his head to a number of the Jötunn elders inside. A number of them stood at once, silently, following their king even further into Malfoy Manor where the private guest chambers had been allocated for their royal guest.

"What just—" Draco started.

"Who was that?" Harry asked. "The woman with King Laufey?"

_**Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmh!**_ The serpentlets sang, popping their heads out from amongst the flowers.

"It worked!"

"Yay!"

"Most excellent!"

"He _did_ sing for her!"

"She sang for him too!"

"Little late though, they were supposed to come back before breakfast!"

"They're _old_. That's okay."

"True."

"She's not feeling old anymore!"

"Hee!"

"Good thing we claimed her as ours!"

"Yes!"

" _ **WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!"**_ Harry yelled, and a multi-coloured sock appeared out of nowhere to stuffed itself into his mouth, knocking him flat off his chair.

Geir slithered onto Harry's chest and peered directly into his face. "Poor Uncle Harry. He just doesn't understand."

Naseem shrugged, making his wings ripple. "That's okay. We can't _all_ have mum's brains."

"Um, not to seem equally ignorant here, but some of us here are not in the divine know about stuff like this," Draco whinged. "What are we missing here?"

The serpentlets all exchanged puzzled glances.

Natsu stuck out her cream-white tongue, flicking it at him playfully. "Well, when two beings love each other very much…"

A loud shriek of feminine ecstasy echoed throughout the halls of Malfoy Manor. Hundreds of stomping Jotun feet cheered after.

"Marriage happens," Vidar added smugly.

"Finally!" Raina flapped her wings.

"Mission accomplished," Itzel crowed happily, beaming rainbows off of her scales and wings.

" _ **What are they talking about, Hermione?!"**_ Draco and Harry yelled as Hermione and Loki came strolling down the hall arm-in-arm.

Hermione and Loki, who looked like they had just licked the fresh cream right off the top of the milk, just smiled at Draco and Harry with the most blatantly shite-eating grins possible.

"Mmmm, I predict a sharp increase in Jötunn birth rates, the likes of which they haven't seen in centuries," Loki purred, carefully adjusting his halo. "Go dad!"

Another feminine shriek ripped through Malfoy Manor as a blast of heated magic flared outwards, knocking random objects off of tables and plants off of pedestals. White peacocks ran around blindly in circles, obviously unsure of where to go or where to hide or even what the heck they were hiding from.

" _ **Hnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnngh,"**_ Hermione sang. "Go dad!"

" _ **Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnh,"**_ Loki sang back to her. "Long live the parents!"

Hermione and Loki launched themselves up into the air, shedding all semblance of humanity or Asgardian shape or form. Celestial plasma swirled as their wings beat together, and the two quetzalcoatls rose as one, sliding against each other as they sang. Solar and lunar light blazed throughout the sky as gaseous particles in the atmosphere charged and painted the sky in radiant colours reminiscent of sunrise and sunset mixed together in a glorious display.

" _ **Hnnnnnnnnnnn!"**_ Hermione sang, whooshing away in a quick dart.

" _ **Nnnnnnh!"**_ Loki replied, immediately giving chase.

"Wait for us!" the serpentlets cried, beating their wings frantically as they rushed to chase after their parents, long trails of celestial plasma left hanging in their wake.

Draco and Harry exchanged confused glances as they were left, alone and abandoned, with only the white peacocks for company.

" _ **Introducing King Laufey and his Queen, Lady Minerva, High Priestess of Vidar! Huzzah!"**_

" _ **Huzzah!"**_

" _ **Introducing Lady Ishea and her mate, the High Priest of Raina, Severus!"**_

" _ **Huzzah!"**_

" _ **Huzzah!"**_

A army of baby booklets bounced by with a small cluster of Venomous Tentacula seedlings, all making the most obnoxiously cute squeaking and cheering noises. Rith, Grim, and Violet clapped their covers in approval, still sporting their rather useful sets of wings. Grim spat out a barred owl feather, looking the very picture of innocence.

Harry and Draco stared at each other in complete shock and then promptly slid to the ground in a dead faint. Again.

The army of baby booklets bounced up to cuddle on their chests, the baby Venomous Tentacula seedlings curling their baby fronds around them in a planty hug.

After a moment's pause, one of the seedlings leaned over and chomped onto an unconscious Harry's nose.

Golden letters appeared on the nearby booklet: _Love Hurts: Breaking Down the Species Barriers._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: After spending about 2 weeks in the hospital, I can safely say that sepsis is horrible and I don't recommend it for anyone. Thank you to those of you who have sent me well wishes. It meant a lot to read them while stuck in the place no one ever wants to be for any length of time. Morale was pretty low there, and every bit of positivity helped. I thank you for that. And please thank The Dragon and the Rose and Dutchgirl01 (and Flyby Commander Shepard) for refusing to let me suffer it out alone. I can't even begin to tell you what that means to me. I can honestly say the world is better with them in it, and my life is no exception.
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this chapter. It is full of hope and promise for a better and brighter world— something I need, even if I have to rewrite canon to make it happen. MAUHAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA! (ahem)


	4. Fatherhood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I blame— the Venomous Tentacula Seedlings.
> 
> Beta Love: The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01, Commander Shepard

**Chapter 4**

**Fatherhood**

_A king, realizing his incompetence, can either delegate or abdicate his duties. A father can do neither. If only sons could see the paradox, they would understand the dilemma. - Marlene Dietrich_

The tall reaching branches of the Yggdrasil stretched just as far up as they did below, and even Odin himself did not know the extent of them all. He had sacrificed his own eye for greater knowledge, oh so long ago, in order to discover the power of runes. These he shared to any and all denizens of the Nine Realms, and many believed that his thirst for understanding the weave and the mysteries of life were matched only by his most unstoppable will.

But what only some knew was that Odin's will was driven by his need to protect his people from the coming of Ragnarök. He strove to know the ins and outs of the Nine Realms to stave off the doom of the mightiest gods— the destruction of the cosmos itself. Odin did not wish for the obliteration of his people any more than he sought the demise of any of the Nine Realms' many peoples. He, like his father Bor, strove to both protect his people and the lives of all those of the Realms, but it was a precarious balance between protecting his people and protecting the Realms. Bor had fallen, turned to snow by powerful sorcerer as he had been chasing after a fleeing giant. Even to this day, Odin swore he could hear his father's voice whispering on the winds every time it snowed, and it was for that reason Odin had harboured a deep, secret loathing of the ice and snow.

The ice and snow whispered to him of his father's lost dreams and Odin's own failures. It mocked him for having one son he could never quite connect with and another son who was altogether too much like Odin himself. While Bor and his wife, Bestla, had chosen to invest themselves in the creation of the universe, Odin could only dream within the domain of what had already been created. He had sacrificed his own eye to gain the knowledge of runes— always striving to learn more, do more, _be_ more than his father before him.

So, when he had caught the young sorceress daring to defy the betrothal of his youngest son to the future bride Odin had chosen for him, Lady Sigyn, he had lost all sense of decorum and banished her from Ásgarðr with the same unthinking, fiery rage that his father had unleashed upon _him_ when he had learned that Odin wished to make his name on Miðgarðr as a god.

He had arranged for his son's marriage in order to keep him safe— and to ensure a lasting peace between the Jötunn and Asgardians. In his heart, he had truly believed that if Loki never found out about his heritage, he would also be freed of the stigma that would come along with it. Lady Idonia had jeopardised that. He had caught them in the midst of—

Loki had been, unbeknownst to him, only following his Jötunn instincts in the act of claiming his chosen mate in seeming defiance of Odin's own arrangements. Loki had carefully hidden his new lover away from him, and it had only been Sigyn's woeful lament that there was someone else stealing all hope of winning Loki's regard away from her that had tipped him off into investigating further.

He hadn't meant to lose his temper as he had, but lose it he had indeed.

And every day since that day, Loki's psyche became more and more troubled. His usual stability and reliability became reckless anger and violence. His tricks had become increasingly malicious in nature. His disdain was legion, and his jealousy of his brother's attention from Odin became something raw and chafing. Loki became the very thing Odin had been trying so desperately to prevent: destructive and vengeful. And irony of ironies: Loki didn't even remember _why_. Even without his memory, Loki had raged wildly, steadily devolved, and turned into the very epitome of an angry, maladjusted son.

Frigga, poor Frigga, had been beside herself in grief. Her formerly loving, gentle, sensitive son had become anything but. Odin had cast him down to Miðgarðr in the hope it would temper his rage into something manageable, even while in his heart he had put together what he had done in the exact moment Loki had gone mental.

He _should_ have taken the young sorceress under his care and nurtured that love his son had had for her. He _should_ have taken the wise and kingly route and made his decision officially— but his father had instilled within him a need to make a decision and stick with it no matter what, and Odin had inadvertently done precisely that.

And now, both of his sons did tread on Miðgarðr, learning the lessons that Odin himself hadn't quite figured out, despite his advanced years. They both had vanished, seemingly into thin air. Yet, he _knew_ that Mjolnir was with them, either one or both of them. The hammer had judged Thor worthy, yet Thor had not chosen to return to Ásgarðr. Frigga had disappeared— taking her sojourns to Miðgarðr with such frequency that Odin _knew_ she had been with her sons. Nothing else would have called to her so strongly. He had said nothing, privately knowing it that wasn't solely for his sons' benefit that Frigga had chosen to do what she did. Frigga had become an unfortunate casualty of the drama ever since the day Odin had first cast Lady Idonia from Ásgarðr— no, since the day he had brought Loki home to her. Just as he had brought home Thor. Two sons of different mothers.

His Frigga had loved them still and raised them as if she had borne them both herself.

He knew there was nothing he could do to stop Frigga when she really, really wanted something, but the truth was that he didn't _want_ to stop her. Had he but listened to her from the start, he would have tried harder to connect with his two sons and treat them equally. For a god who eagerly sought out knowledge from any and all sources, he was sadly lacking when it came to the nurturing of his own family. The ways of war seemed so much more clear-cut in comparison.

As Odin approached the very base of the Yggdrasil, he mentally prepared to humble himself. Urd, Verdandi, and Skuld lived within the Well of Urd— the mainspring of Destiny. He dismounted Sleipnir, giving the eight-legged horse a comforting pat, and realised that his favourite horse wouldn't have been with him in the first place had it not been for Loki luring off the giant's prize stallion during the construction of Ásgarðr's fortifications.

Thanks to Sleipnir, Odin could ride across the branches of the Yggdrasil and visit any Realm contained within the Yggdrasil's branches. That was a gift that even Thor could not match, despite his coupling with the Elder Goddess Gaea in an effort to create a son who could possibly eclipse him.

Odin had brokered a deal with a giant smith, who said he could build the great protective wall around Ásgarðr in but three seasons, but the price was exceedingly high. He wanted the hand of the goddess Freya as his mate as well as the sun and moon. Loki had bargained it down to one season, stating that the giant could only have help from his horse, and the gods had agreed that this made the task seemingly more impossible and thus better. They would get their new wall, and Freya would not be forced to marry a giant.

Alas, Svadilfari, the giant's stallion, was no ordinary horse. The giant had not only almost completed the walls in record time, but they risked losing both Freya _and_ their sun and moon— threatening to plunge the Realm into eternal darkness. The gods had all turned on Loki, blaming _him_ for misleading them. Loki had then sworn that he would prevent their wall from being completed "on time" and he had done exactly that. By turning himself into a mare and luring Svadilfari away.

Freya and the sun and moon had been saved— and Loki had given birth to Sleipnir. It had not been among the gods' most honourable of victories.

And the giant that had done nothing but bargain for proper payment and perform his task in good faith, but had only been rewarded for his work with a swift hammer to the head. Gods they might be, but the Æsir were perfectly capable of vast and glorious deeds and even more vast and inglorious failures.

As Odin approached the three Norns, he realised he was again staring down at the bottom of his barrel, scraping it for even the slightest hint of the future he was helplessly blind to. So frantic had been his struggle to avoid the perils of the future, that he had muddied the waters of his own fate. He could no more see his future than that of his people.

"All-Father," Verdandi greeted him, a lock of pure silver shimmering alongside the auburn hair which dangled down across her eyes. She and her sisters were tending a hundred thousand individual threads of shimmering lives as assiduously as the spiders tended their webs.

"Odin Borson," Urd cried, her youthful face holding oddly wizened eyes that did not match.

"Wanderer," Skuld whispered, her long fingers brushing lightly against the threads despite her turning to look up at him. "What brings you to the Well of Urd yet not to ride off on Sleipnir to the Realms beyond?"

Odin knelt down in the vegetation. "Many mistakes have led me here, as well you know. I beg you, pray, tell me where I have been going wrong. Is it not my task to fend off the looming threat of Ragnarök? Is that not my destiny?"

"You know, Odin, son of Bor, that destiny is not a final or unchanging thing," Skuld said grimly.

"The path can only be given," Urd said.

"You must decide how you wish to follow it," Verdandi said. She clenched her fist, breaking one strand, and the ghostly image of a dying warrior flickered once briefly before dissipating into nothingness.

"Even we Norns are not immune to the vagaries of Fate," Skuld said, blinking slowly.

"Please, tell me where I have failed my people," Odin said, his voice insistent yet resigned.

"You bring many children to your wife's bosom, Odin, son of Bor," Skuld said, "but only three were of your coupling with she who is your wife. Which failing is it that you wish exposed? Which fault is any greater than another?"

Odin remained still and silent for a time.

"How did I fail Loki?" he finally whispered.

"Wanderer," Urd began. "In all of your travellings, did you never learn how new gods and goddesses are birthed unto the Cosmos?"

"Not those of the Æsir," Verdandi clarified, "who pick and choose their own lot in life as a mortal does select a career or a trade."

Odin was silent.

"True gods and goddesses are born when they are needed most and to fulfill a specific purpose, Odin Borson. Loki is one such god. That you saved him as an infant from a cold and lonely death, that you took him to your lady wife's bosom, and that she accepted him as her own were all deeds that began his ascension into that which he was meant to become."

"But true gods and goddesses do not exist in the nigh-endless vacuum between Life and Death," Skuld said.

"They exist in those Realms which exist between waking and dreaming, guiding the paths of those who truly believe and those who so desperately _wish_ to believe, in defiance of all those who do not." Verdandi pulled on a single strand, weaving it with her fingers and replacing it on a line.

"Just as Loki was born to be a god, so too was his destined mate— both born to ascend together unto the very throne of the Cosmos and stave off Ragnarök with the birth and seeding of their children unto the Realms."

"A tiny seed, planted within a young sorceress of no great name, no family of note, no reputation of grandeur."

"But when preparing to be mated to he who was meant to be her other half, her partner throughout the eternal cycle—"

"Embracing her fate."

"Bound to him until suns grow cold and still."

"You did rip them apart."

"Broke the cycle before it could begin."

"Warped the very order of things."

"Instead of witnessing the rebirth of the gods—"

"You instead hastened the coming of Ragnarök."

"Had they not found each other again."

"Purely by chance."

"Random chance."

"Sheer dumb luck."

"Lucky for you, Odin, son of Bor."

"Lucky for the Realms."

"Lucky for you, two sons found each other again."

"Two sons grown closer than ever before."

"Both finding love while banished to another world."

"Do not allow your temper to destroy that which you yourself could not create, Wanderer."

"Do not commit the same foolish mistake twice."

"Remember, Odin Borson," Urd cautioned. "Do not forget that which you have learned here this day."

"Lest ye bring forth that which you have worked so tirelessly to keep at bay."

"With no one left to blame but yourself."

"Remember," Skuld reminded him sternly. "Fenrir began as but a pup long before the gods twisted his innocent trust into hatred and loathing. When he consumes everything that lies between the ground and sky, it will be because the Æsir created their own enemy out of fear of what he might be and not what he truly is."

"What kind of god do you wish to be known and remembered as, Odin, Wanderer?" Skuld asked.

"He who embraces destiny?"

"Or he who runs from it?"

* * *

Minerva stood on the front pathway into Hogwarts and immediately facepalmed at what she saw. Argus was hanging by his feet from the front gates, covered from head-to-toe in hoofprints. Mrs Norris was yowling piteously from a nearby tree, clearly terrified. The giant squid was tied up in knots on the shore, struggling in vain to get back to the lake. Fang's posterior had been replaced by that of a goat's and he had a large number of writhing, octopus-like tentacles sprouting up from his head. The tattered remains of multiple rose bushes were scattered all up and down the path to the castle. One of the front doors had been ripped half off its hinges, and Minerva was fairly certain that trees were supposed to grow roots-down and not roots-up as the Whomping Willow currently was.

Minerva shifted a bit uncomfortably. Even with as little on as she had at the moment, it was hot enough outside to make her sweat. Back at the temple, Hermione and Loki had worked with the goblins to create a perfect jungle climate that was still blissfully cold for their most appreciative Jötunn residents. The goblins had proceeded to outdo themselves over and over again, catering to a sudden rise of different cultures, all of which had their own ideal climate-controlled residences on islands that circled around the main temple grounds. Her hand went to the shell-pendant around her neck, feeling the cool surge of magic that kept her newly-acquired nature under wraps— but also kept her from being too uncomfortable in a climate that was not, at the moment anyway, made up of ice and snow. She said a soft prayer of thanks, smiling as the image of Vidar doing loop-de-loops in the air filled her mind and heart with happiness and love.

Laufey grasped her hands and drew them to his mouth, blowing a chilly frost upon them they way a normal human might do the same with heat. Minerva smiled at him at the consideration, leaning into his loving embrace. Even months in from their marriage and their blissful consummation, the very feel of his gaze sent her heart aflutter and her knees knocking together. He chilled her body the way her body used to heat at the thought of her husband, only it was a _very_ good sort of chill. His large hand pressed against the bare skin of her abdomen, touching gently where a new life grew within. It hadn't taken long at all for her King-husband to fulfil his duty as her mate in ensuring that no other giant dared to doubt the depth of his devotion, not that she had complained, at all, _ever_ , during the entire process of "conversion". Laufey had been a most experienced lover, making her transition just as smooth and un-traumatic as possible, even to the point where when she was required to present herself to him in front of the other elders, she hadn't even noticed they were there— so enraptured she had been with him and him alone.

Severus stepped in the gate, raising his eyebrow at the dangling iron, his previously black eyes were now a deep, penetrating garnet, and Minerva found them very attractive, indeed. She knew that Lady Ishea was very, _very_ happy with Severus. He had taken to his duty as hunter and provider like a duck to water, showing a side of himself that only a handful of people knew him to be capable of. None of this had surprised Hermione or Loki in the least, but it was hard to get the drop on those two anymore, especially with all the prayers and dreams flooding in to them.

Severus had his hands wrapped around the traditional hunting spear, the glistening rune-carved point was wrapped in frost-seal sinew and the shaft carved with the runic prayers of the hunt. It, like his wand, never left his side whenever leaving home. Home was the only place where all weapons were set beside the door, save for those used in the process of preparing food. He bared his teeth instinctively, grimacing much as she had at the unsavoury heat. His hand, too, instantly went to the pendant around his neck, taking solace as the flare of cold magic came to life and made it much more tolerable.

Raina was wrapped snugly around Severus' neck, as per her usual routine. Her blue tongue flicked in and out curiously, her bravery in proportion to her limited life experience. She seemed a little nervous, and rightly so, as the adults around her weren't exactly pillars of self-assured calm either. As a testament to their absolute trust in him, perhaps, Hermione and Loki never minded when Raina wished to accompany Severus like a living serpentine stole. They allowed Vidar much the same with Minerva, but Vidar was back home at the temple learning Gobbledegook with the goblin goblets.

Minerva hadn't been expecting such a level of complete and utter chaos, even after having sorted through about a hundred plus frantic owls literally begging her to come back and sort things out. It had taken a few days to get the owls to even give her the mail due to the rather significant changes in her magical signature. Hermione had said that she had no issue, but owls were stubbornly fickle beasts when it came to the delivery of mail— one small change and they refused to deliver at all, lest they end up presenting the package or missive to the "wrong" witch or wizard.

Under normal circumstances, Minerva would have been inclined to understand, but the Jötunn saw owls as being no less the nuisance than the avian menaces that routinely raided their hidden supply caches— supplies that literally meant life or death to the travelling hunter. The instinct to do in the owls was surprisingly strong, and being pregnant did not quell that instinct in the slightest. In fact, quite the opposite.

Even Hermione— one of the most tolerant witches Minerva knew— had to fight the instinct to rage all over the avians taking over Malfoy Manor and later the temple as they tried (and failed) to "find Minerva McGonagall."

There was a sudden startled hiss, and Severus was instantly a blur of motion. He slammed his spear down into the twitching carcass of a huge acromantula. The creature gave a short death rattle and then stilled.

"You and the spear have bonded well," Laufey said with approval. "What _is_ this creature?"

Severus' lips curled back. "Acromantula," he replied. "They will eat anything smaller or weaker than them— and that includes people." He took out a vial and collected the venom with a sort of habitual ease, even as he sniffed the carcass experimentally. "However, I had never before noticed how incredibly good they smelled until now."

Laufey and Minerva leaned in together, their eyebrows raising in curiosity. "Delicious."

Severus broke off a leg experimentally, yanking it off the carapace with a sharp crack. He sniffed it again, eyes looking around carefully as if waiting for a trap. He nibbled on the end, and his eyebrows shot up into his hair as he shivered in pure pleasure. "My King," Severus said with a purr. "I think you will be more than happy with the outcome of this most unexpected new food source."

Laufey, who was already drooling, yanked off a leg and tested it for himself. His ruby eyes widened as a low growl of pleasure rumbled in his throat. He broke off another and guided it to Minerva's mouth. "My mate."

Minerva sampled the arachnid leg and closed her eyes in obvious pleasure. "I never dreamed such a thing would taste so wonderful."

The three of them proceeded to devour the spoils of Severus' unexpected culinary discovery until only the hardened carapace remained— that and one bundle of legs that Severus had carefully wrapped and preserved to take back to his mate.

"Do you raise them for food?" Laufey asked interestedly.

Minerva laughed. "I think if Hagrid knew we just ate one of his 'friends', he would be most horrified."

"He is friends with a man-eating species?"

"He thinks they are harmless," Severus explained rather dryly.

"Even a frost-sabre or a Jötunheimr beast raised from birth can maul even an experienced hunter to death," Laufey said, shaking his head in sheer disbelief. "To not remember this is what gets the young killed."

Minerva shook her head. "Hagrid is— a bit of a special case where the laws of nature and nurture have been lost somewhere along the way. I can tell you that he _does_ mean well. There is no doubt of that, but that is about all I can say for sure."

" _ **AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"**_ Argus screamed as he finally managed to free himself from the entanglement only to stumble into the party of post spider-eating Jötunn.

" _ **ALIENS! INVADERS! SOUND THE CASTLE ALARMS! HOGWARTS IS BEING INVADED!"**_

He then promptly turned only to run face-first into the tree and fell to the ground, knocked soundly unconscious. Mrs Norris fell out of the tree and landed claws-first in the middle of Argus' already-battered face.

Severus curled his lip in derision. "That certainly went well."

"I cannot _wait_ to resign," Minerva said with a tired sigh. "Glamours on now, everyone. My husband king, if you do not mind?"

"Whatever you need me to do, my queen mate. I find I am quite done with mindless screaming for today."

Minerva pressed her forehead lovingly to his and waved her wand. "What about _other_ kinds of screaming?" she asked rather mischievously.

Laufey's eyes gleamed a radiant ruby. "I will certainly make time for _that_ , I promise you."

"Get a room, you two," Severus muttered, sweeping up the path to Hogwarts, his robes billowing behind him.

"You're just jealous," Minerva ribbed to his back.

* * *

"Headmaster Dumbledore, I realise that you believe this school to be perfectly safe, and maybe it _was_ safe, once upon a time, but there are now a pack of mutant, illegally-bred, erumpent-unicorns hybrids out there exploding everything they put their horns to, and considering that unicorns like to stick their horns into all sorts of different things, this is _**NOT**_ a safe situation!"

"It's one thing if we have a rampaging unicorn purifying everything," one of the new board members said. "That's almost helpful, but the bloody front gates have been literally blown off their hinges! We already have twenty-plus students being treated in the Hogwarts infirmary who are suffering from second and third-degree explosive burns. The Whomping Willow has been uprooted and is now even crankier than it was when it had its roots in the ground. It has since punted half of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team into Black Lake and then proceeded to tie the giant squid up in knots. In _**KNOTS!**_ "

"The traumatised squid has now bloody well taken to hugging the far side of Hogwarts and whimpers so constantly that no one in Slytherin House can even sleep at night— not that anyone _else_ is sleeping what with a bunch of invisible _some_ things charging down the halls and taking out random prefects, house-elves and staff members alike!"

"To top it all off, Minerva McGonagall has finally had the good sense to retire, not that any of us can blame her," one board member added rather peevishly. "And now Severus Snape has resigned too, and after everything that poor man has had to deal with, I find I can't blame him either, no thanks to the, ah… late Mr Malfoy, no offense to the current Mr Malfoy."

Draco waved his hand dismissively. "No worries. My father was a real piece of work. We _all_ know that."

"The DRCMC has mandated that we address this illegal breeding of magical animals at once in order to keep this school from shutting down. We cannot simply turn a blind eye to this, Headmaster."

"As I have stated on many previous occasions, Rubeus Hagrid has an impeccable character. He doesn't have it in him to bring harm our students," Dumbledore said calmly, stroking his beard.

"It's not about whether he has it in him, Headmaster," one of the board members said with a heavy sigh. "It's about how things always seem to happen on Hagrid's watch even without his actually intending it. Look, we already have Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank on board, she's prepared to come in here and whip things back into shape. We can keep the school from suffering any further. We simply need you to step up, Headmaster, and remove Mr Hagrid from Hogwarts before we end up with something even _worse_ rearing its ugly head. We already have an entire horde of rampaging, non-native Acromantulas terrorising the school grounds, and we need to find a way to deal with those creatures too."

"The Acromantula situation will be taken care of by me," Draco said, lifting his hand in an "as you were" gesture. "All students and staff members of Hogwarts will be going on a mandatory holiday, starting next week."

"And what about the erumpent-unicorns?" one man moaned. "They simply aren't natural. They're violent, much unlike the pertinent natural species— and every time they bleed they leave the most horrendous purple stains _every_ where."

Draco rubbed his temples. "I believe I can solve that issue as well, but it will require hiring in an outside party."

"Fine, fine, you're quite welcome to hire whoever you want, Mr Malfoy," the others said without a second's hesitation. "Feel free to pay them whatever they require. Just _please_ get the school back to being safe?"

Draco arched a blond brow. "As you wish."

"Look, Headmaster Dumbledore," the main board member said, rubbing his temples to ease an obviously nasty headache. "It's like this: Just get us some fresh blood in the teachers roster and, for Merlin's sake, sack that mad half-giant of yours. I don't even care if you arrange for him to go somewhere else, _any_ where else, but it cannot be here. Help him if you must, but you _must_ help him out the doors. If you do not, the DRCMC is going to step in, they're going to make all kinds of hay and parents are going to want to send their kids off to Durmstrang or Beauxbatons rather than Hogwarts."

Dumbledore sighed in reluctant acquiescence. "Very well."

A deep sigh of relief fell over the Board of Governors. "Good."

* * *

Hermione rumbled in amusement as her darling serpentlets promptly descended upon one of the freshly-dead spider carcasses and tried to tear it apart together. Her golden eyes glowed as she chuckled, basking in the sun as her mate and a throng of happy Jötunn hunters proceeded to lay waste to the Forbidden Forest's Acromantula colony.

Certain key potioneers had been informed of the golden opportunity, and many of them had paid _very_ well to be permitted to come harvest the fresh Acromantula venom, and all the proceeds were right going back into the Hogwarts coffers to help rebuild the damaged castle after the mass chaos and destruction caused by rampaging erumpent-unicorn hybrids as well as the roundup of Hagrid's latest pet project, a pack of manticore-thestral hybrids that had somehow slipped through the cracks.

Just how such a thing had 'slipped through the cracks' of anything was beyond her. They were bloody _huge—_ and thanks to getting into multiple nasty fights with the Erumpent Unicorns, they were also permanently stained a rather obnoxiously bright purple.

Hagrid had, thankfully, been relieved of his post and had eagerly taken on a new position as a dragon-handling apprentice in Romania, thanks to some remarkably quick negotiations via owl on the part of one Albus Dumbledore. Albus himself, who had been allowing Minerva and Severus to do most of his official work previously, had, at long last, resigned himself to sucking it up and running the school again as a proper Headmaster. Severus, of course, blamed Minerva for coddling the old man for so long, but Minerva had pointed out that she had two choices: either do it herself and have it done _right_ (read: random things _not_ exploding directly in their faces), or she could've left Albus to do it, which would've surely resulted in every _thing_ exploding every _where_.

Severus conceded her point.

Loki had curled himself around the Whomping Willow and personally re-planted the ever-cranky tree, earning himself a swift punch directly to the face and the need for the services of a serpent chiropractor; thankfully Ishea was on call to adjust his spine back into proper alignment for him.

The Acromantula hunt went on for almost a week, and Jötunn hunters came and went through the hastily crafted temporary portal, hunting until their packs were entirely full and then dragging the carcasses back to Jötunheimr to feed their delighted families. Everyone agreed that Acromantula flesh was finest gift of all from Miðgarðr, so much so that Loki and Hermione saw fit to gift King Laufey with two breeding pairs of frost-acclimated Acromantulas to "supplement their hunting enjoyment." Laufey's broad grin quickly spread from Jötunn to Jötunn as all of them felt that one more tasty item for the menu was always something to be celebrated.

Perhaps the only losers in the entire deal were the Acromantulas— having never once found themselves on the menu for something _ELSE_.

Hagrid had tried to take a giant Acromantula named Aragog to Romania along with what was assumed to be the spider's mate, but Hermione had beamed with private pride as her sweet little serpentlets had sniffed that plan out almost immediately. Their reward was— thankfully well out of sight of a sobbing Hagrid— absolutely delicious.

Hermione secretly celebrated the fact that her babies would not have to eat for an entire _week_.

After casting a mass Arachnid Gigantus Revelio spell on the castle, grounds and the forest itself, it seemed the Forbidden Forest and everywhere else was now blissfully Acromantula-free. The larders back in Jötunheimr, however, were full to bursting, and by the time they finally ran out of that, the new population of ice-Acromantulas would've stabilised and would be ready to be hunted. Life was looking very good for their allies in Jötunheimr— and that made for quite the happy Loki, a very happy King Laufey, and some very, _very_ happy Jötunn.

Even Jane had bravely sampled the Acromantula legs, which Ishea had prepared with lime and sweet chilli sauce, and, much to everyone's surprise, the very pregnant Jane began to crave it. Thor ended up trekking off to the jungles of Asia to put Mjölnir to work, bringing back a spider or two every week or so— not that anyone was complaining. They were totally delicious.

As for the super-violent erumpent-unicorn hybrids and the equally horrible mutant manticore-thestrals, no one seemed to know _what_ to do with them. They smelled so bad that even thinking about eating them was completely out. The local centaur couldn't use their parts due to the overwhelming stench, and the very concept of an un-unicorn was considered to be blasphemous. Severus recommended testing the creatures for potion use viability, as long as _he_ wasn't the one doing it. His super-sensitive nose was even more sensitive after his recent transformation, and he wasn't going to willingly put his nose near them anytime soon.

Even the serpentlets tried to bury their faces into their mummy's thick mane of feathers to avoid the stench.

Draco shipped one of each off to this side Potions company to see what they could do about it, but so far, the only thing that had come of it was about fifteen employees falling unconscious only to awaken with pounding headaches. Draco considered using the carcasses as bio-weapons, but then figured with his luck, someone would manage to botch the thing and it would end up exploding right next to _him_.

He knew it was really bad when a bouncing batch of baby booklets wandered by with clothespins affixed to their covers, followed by a swarm of Venomous tentacula seedlings, all with clothespins in place over each tentacle.

Hermione had to agree there. She didn't realise that venomous tentaculas even _had_ scenting organs to begin with. Then again, she hadn't imagined that the tentaculas would get along so well with baby booklets either.

Who knew?

They still bit Draco and Harry on the face, arse, ankle or any other bit of exposed flesh they could reach, every single time they saw either of them. Loki swore it was a love bite, but neither Harry or Draco were understandably disinclined to believe that their faces or other appendages swelling up due to the venom could be interpreted as a sign of affection. Loki claimed they were simply inoculating them, but Harry and Draco were highly suspicious of that particular explanation.

"I'm not the one who got himself totally knackered and got laid by a horny venomous plant," Loki pointed out, getting in the last word, as usual.

"There is a life lesson in there somewhere," a smirking Theo had agreed.

"I'd always wondered who would get pregnant first," Luna said dreamily. "I suppose this gives Draco a bit more perspective when it comes to having children. Good thing I don't mind sharing. Venomous tentaculas seem very down to earth with regard to custody rights." After which, Luna pulled out a spicy Acromantula leg and began to crunch on it in a disturbingly noisy manner.

A small gathering of baby tentaculas bounced eagerly after her, begging for her to share the tasty treat.

Hermione smiled as Loki curled his body around hers and of all the serpentlets curled up to snuggle into her mane. She yawned lazily, golden tongue flicking in and out. Loki's insidious tongue flicked teasingly against hers, his crimson eyes meeting her golden ones.

" _ **Gnnnnnnnnnnnnh?"**_ Loki sang softly.

" _ **Nnnnnnnnnngh,"**_ Hermione replied, her tongue quickly shooting out to peg his ear.

Loki's crimson eyes widened. He coiled himself around her body ever so insidiously, without even dislodging the serpentlets from her mane. He pressed his head to hers, his tongue sliding slowly against her scales.

" _ **Mrrrrr,"**_ Hermione said.

" _ **Mmmmmm,"**_ Loki hissed, the very picture of serpentine innocence.

* * *

Itzel sat on top of Volstagg's cast, yawning and exposing her fangs in a lazy stretch. She stared into the warrior's blue eyes, as she was prone to do, seeming to evaluate his soul for the afterlife.

She made her way from cast to cast, checking on each patient and then checking in with Lady Ishea, purring with pleasure when the Jötunn healer rubbed all of the happy places in her mane. Her soft downy mane had started to sprout real fur, and her down had started to unfold into real feathers, surrounding her head with a rainbow assortment of colour very much like her mother's.

Itzel turned her head to the side and peered at Volstagg through the cast hole. "You must be seriously bored."

The serpentlet sighed. Day after day she had tried to speak with the red beard, but nothing came of it. It was odd to her that it was so easy to talk to Lady Ishea and pretty much everyone else— everyone else but the ones here in the infirmary. She concentrated. She thought really clearly. She even tried making odd shapes with her body, but alas, nothing came of it. It was frustrating.

"They have no faith, little one," Ishea said quietly, scooping up the little serpentlet. "That is why they cannot hear you."

"But why?" Itzel complained. "I'm right here!"

"Just because they see you doesn't mean they have faith."

Itzel sulked. That was no fun. How was she supposed to communicate if they insisted on being so silly and stubborn about it?

Fwoop!

Thump.

"Hi sis!" Geir landed on top of Itzel and hugged her. The moonstone coloured serpent tickled her with his wings and made mock attacks at her scruff.

Itzel flared her mane and dodged and struck, mirroring him.

"Hallo, Lady Ishea!" Geir greeted, rubbing his nose against Ishea's chin. "How is little Ishea coming along?"

Ishea smiled, rubbing her belly. "Good so far. Severus made me a potion for the nausea."

"That's good," Geir agreed. "Throwing up is nasty, and it's a waste of perfectly good food."

Ishea smiled. "Indeed."

Both serpentlets placed their heads against Ishea's belly, listening.

"Did Uncle Thor bring you some spider legs?"

"Mmmm, yes he did. It was very kind of him."

"Uncle Thor is the _**best!**_ " the two serpentlets agreed enthusiastically.

Itzel flared her mane. "I just wish he'd hurry up and get properly mated so that Grandma Frigga doesn't explode."

"Technically they _are_ are mated," Geir noted.

" _Married_ mated," Itzel clarified. "Nan Frigga likes marriages with cake and strange figurines on top of icing."

"Nan is pretty strange," Geir commented. "Mum and Dad didn't need cake and strange icing figurines."

The moonstone-coloured serpent peered intently into Volstagg's cast, staring straight into his eyes. "You sure he's healing? They've been here for _months_."

"Grandpa Severus says they need to have an apostrophe."

"Epiphany?"

"Yeah, that."

"What kind of epiphany?"

"Probably a crisis of faith," Lady Ishea said, soothing both serpentlets with her hands. The pair purred and rubbed up against her hand happily. "This temple is a junction of faith— this infirmary sits in the midst of a vortex of power, but without your parents, it is only just power. It is power without a focus."

The serpentlets cocked their heads, thinking hard.

"What about us?"

"You, too, can manipulate it— but probably not quite as well as your parents. Severus and Minerva can as well, due to the bonds that they share with your family."

"Grandpa Severus says that if they don't heal for a while, they may have to leave them out in the open somewhere and let Heimdall find them."

Itzel sighed. "Why are they so stubborn?"

Ishea smiled. "You _do_ realise what a miracle you are, yes? Some people don't rely on miracles. They don't have faith in anyone or anything but their own power because they have learned that they can only rely on themselves. Perhaps, they think since they are gods, that they cannot and should not do so."

"That's silly," Geir replied. "Mum and Dad rely on each other. Dad and Uncle Thor rely on each other. We _all_ rely on each other. There is no shame in that."

Ishea tapped the serpent gently on the nose. "That is one of life's biggest lessons, love. Some people go their entire lives without ever learning that."

Geir play-gnawed on Ishea's fingers, carefully gumming her digits with playful mock bites. He laid his head on her fingers and stared up at her adoringly. "Be mine." He wrapped himself around her hands and stared into her eyes. "I'll share you with Grandpa Severus."

Ishea stilled, great emotion filling her ruby eyes. "Are you quite certain? I am not anyone special."

Geir snorted. "You are Grandpa Severus' mate. Even without that you have always been special. You tend your enemy's wounded, despite the fact they tried to injure you along with all the others. You've survived a terrible war, but you still smile. That is pretty special. I like how you sing in the mornings too. You have heart enough for everyone. Heart enough for me."

Ishea tenderly stroked his mane. "How did one so young become so very wise?"

"I have excellent teachers," Geir beamed, flapping his rainbow feathers. His colour-shifting mane of feathers oscillated.

Geir licked her chin appealingly. "Be mine?"

Ishea opened her arms to the serpentlet. "I'm already yours."

Geir sprang up into her arms and wrapped himself around her neck and chest. His baby fangs sank into her shoulder where he bit her gently, injecting his magic into her. His magic flared, swirling around them as ancient runic patterns spread across her skin— matching Geir's scaly patterns. Ishea cried out, but not in pain, tears flowing down her face as her body spasmed. Cosmic plasma spread from Geir into her, moving in and out of her, tightening as a bond between a quetzalcoatl and his chosen priestess formed and solidified. '

"Ahh!" Ishea gasped, her body spasming.

Geir snuggled up close to her. "I'm here. Always."

Ishea held Geir tightly as the overlapping patterns of the feathered serpent imprinted on her very soul, claiming her for life. Tiny feathers sprouted from her hair, weaving themselves into her silver tresses with just a hint of oscillating colour. She let out a slow, ragged breath, her crimson eyes glowing ever so slightly.

"I love you," Geir said proudly.

"Oh little one," Ishea sobbed as she hugged him tight. "I love you even more."

* * *

Itzel perked as her brother managed to snag himself a high priestess at last. She beamed proudly, happy that her brother managed to do the deed before Yoki beat him to it. All of them loved Ishea, and it was only a matter of who beat who to get to her first. Itzel was content to let Geir have the honour, not that she loved Ishea any less. But all of them were systematically assimilating their loved ones, one high priest or priestess at a time, instinctively making the bond that would anchor them into the very heartbeats of their chosen people.

Ishea had a lot of faith, even from the start.

They could feed on it and not have to eat for weeks. Her faith was powerful and pure. It was perfect for Geir, who wanted to help people— when he was done pranking them, at least.

Itzel had begun to realise that the bond between a Quetzalcoatl and their chosen guaranteed that no matter what happened— the rise or fall of whatever civilisation— there would always be a faith meal close to home. Raina would always have Severus. Vidar would always have Minerva, and Geir would always have Ishea. There would always be someone close who could translate for them— be their vessel for communication and be loved by them. No matter where they made their home— here or on the snows of Jötunheimr— they would always have each other.

Itzel was willing to wait for her Uncle Thor to get his act together and marry Jane. Nan Frigga might murder him otherwise. It was possible that Uncle Thor might already have a little too much on his plate for him to be Itzel's in the way she would need him, but only time would tell. She could wait. She had a quetzalcoatl's patience. Right now, Jane needed Thor far more than she cared to admit. All of the serpentlets knew that. Her world was rapidly expanding, changing, evolving— it was only natural to have some growing pains. Much like breaking out of that shell to make her way into the world! Now _that_ had been exhausting!

But, what was she to do? Mum told her that some things took time. It had taken quite a bit of time for her to find Dad again, after losing him the first time. Still, it had worked out in the end. Grandpa King Laufey had to love and lose his first mate before finally finding Grandma Queen Minerva. She, too, had lost two husbands before having met the One-Who-Truly-Mattered. So, Itzel, too, would wait.

Itzel closed her eyes and lay her head down on the edge of Volstagg's leg cast, her tongue flicking lazily in and out. "You need to hurry up and have that epiphany, red beard," she sighed. "How are we supposed to heal you if you just lie there like a bump on a log?"

"My apologies, little lass," came Volstagg's deep voice from inside the cast. "I fear I couldn't hear you until just now."

Itzel's eyes snapped open, going very wide, and she almost fell off his cast.

"I'm also sorry that I stepped on your tail," he rumbled quietly.

Itzel clambered up towards the face slot and peered in curiously. "You can hear me?"

"Aye, lass, I can."

Itzel seemed to ponder that really hard. "Okay, I'll forgive you, but you have to promise not to do it again."

"I promise, little lass, that if I do, it will never be on purpose."

Itzel pondered again. "Okay."

She poked her head into the cast slot. "Did you have an epiphany?"

"Let's just say I've had a lot of time to think about what brought me to this place," Volstagg told her. "And witnessing a miracle sure didn't hurt."

Itzel stuck her head deeper into the cast. "Grandpa Severus says we can help you if you have your epiphany, so try to keep doing that, okay?"

"I'll do my best, lassie," Volstagg promised.

Geir pounced on his sister. "Ooo, is he talking?" He stuck his face down the cast hole, claws scrambling on the side.

"What are you two doing?" Ishea laughed, tickling their feathered tails to get them to back out of the hole. "He needs to be able to breathe too, you know."

Itzel and Geir scrambled out and gave her their best halos. "He's talking!" Itzal announced sweetly.

"Oh?" Ishea peered down the cast. "They may not be able to understand me."

The serpentlets boggled at that. " _We_ understand you."

"I… can understand you," Volstagg whispered.

"See? Talking!" Itzel said, scrambling back up the cast again.

"Why have you not spoken before now?" Ishea asked, suddenly suspicious.

Silence, then, "I am ashamed, my lady, but until this very moment, I couldn't understand a word you said."

Geir curled around Ishea's neck. "It's because you're mine," he announced proudly.

"Hrm?" Ishea responded, confused.

The moonstone serpent snuggled into her skin. "You're a part of me, so he can understand _you_ now because he can hear me too."

Ishea arched a brow and then just shrugged. "I am way too old to start questioning miracles in my life, especially considering what glorious gifts I have already been given. You are such a wonder, my Geir, and there is no doubting that."

Geir beamed, radiating rainbow plasma.

"We should try and heal him," Itzal said, poking the cast with her tail. "Help me brother?"

"Okay!" Geir said. "Help us, heartmate?" He turned his eyes to Ishea in earnest appeal.

Ishea smiled. "What do you need of me?"

Geir slithered around her arm and guided it to the sole patch of skin Volstagg had that wasn't completely covered in ice-cast. "Touch here and then touch us."

Ishea did as directed, gently placing her free hand on the two serpentlets and the other on the bit of exposed skin. They rubbed up against her, pulling on the celestial plasma and power of the temple grounds. Tiny rainbow tornados of power swirled around them, faltering slightly as they attempted to control them.

" _ **Hnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn,"**_ Hermione's voice sang, reverberating from outside the temple, great wing beats thrumming as the power rose and focused.

" _ **Nnnnnnnnnnnhhhhhh,"**_ Loki's low drone replied, joining with her voice in perfect harmony.

Power thrummed, focused, and poured in from outside, streaming down to the serpentlets in smaller, bite-sized doses.

The baby serpents thrummed, beating their wings in time, curling themselves around Ishea to use her as a conduit, guiding the whorls of healing power into Volstagg's severely injured body. Plumes of radiant energy swirled and danced, and the baby serpents focused hard, willing their feed of energy where they wanted it.

Five smaller voices joined in the thrum of power as their brothers and sisters all joined in the song, and Itzel burst into radiant light as Geir's body gleamed with a deep lunar incandescence.

The resplendence thrummed outward, coursing through the ice-cast in every direction and it burst into pieces, shards of cast turning into an icy vapour in an instant burst of power.

Volstagg landed with a great thump onto the bed, his cast gone and his body completely healed. His pale, sunless skin was disturbingly white and he was wearing not a stitch.

Ishea, without missing a single beat, covered up his nudity with a sheet and a warm blanket, handed him a gown, and hugged the serpentlets to her bosom to cover their very young eyes. Geir and Itzel wriggled but soon settled, trusting in her judgement but practically radiating with insatiable curiosity.

Volstagg hurriedly pulled the gown over himself and used the sheets to give an extra bit of coverage between himself and absolute mortification in front of 'children.'

Thor and Frigga then came bursting into the infirmary at top speed, looking as though they had raced there from somewhere just as Severus suddenly appeared with a loud _**crack**_. He swept into the room, black robes swirling around him, his glowing crimson eyes locking onto hers as he enfolded her against himself with a low, possessive growl, embracing her while keeping a firm grip on his runed spear.

Severus stared over Ishea's shoulder at Volstagg, his eyes narrowing, and the red-headed warrior promptly lost all blood flow to his brain, falling unconscious and slumping heavily back into his bed.

The serpentlets poked their heads up, snuggling themselves into Severus in greeting. "Do that again, Grandpa Severus! That was _**cool!**_ "

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, "We can't take you two _any_ where."

* * *

"Volstagg, I've known you long enough to know that you and your brethren do not just show up with weapons brandished unless there was some kind of plan at work. It might not be a great plan, but there _would_ be a plan," Thor said, eyeing the other man narrowly.

Mjölnir was sitting on a countertop not very far away, liberally covered in cooing baby booklets and an odd number of venomous tentacula seedlings. Mjölnir's runes glistened with magical amusement as the tentaculas played keepaway with the booklets, all wanting to be king of the magical hammer. As usual, Mjölnir appeared to be a highly effective babysitter and didn't even seem to mind such things. Even more strangely, Thor didn't seem to think that made him any less masculine having a babysitting magical hammer with a strange fondness for baby booklets and venomous plant life.

"Aye," Volstagg agreed rather wearily. "We were told to be ready for when the beacon went out, Thor. We were told to be ready to extract Loki from whatever problems he might have gotten himself buried in and bring him back home."

" _Specifically_ Loki?" Frigga asked, her brow creasing in thought.

"Aye, my queen," Volstagg replied. He tilted his head as the serpentlets tussled over a large Acromantula leg, trying to tear it to pieces for sharing but they seemed unable to get it to break for them. He reached over and quickly cracked the leg into seven equal pieces, earning himself happy and somewhat drooly serpentine snuggles on his hand.

"Was this my father's command?" Thor asked, frowning.

"It came directly from the royal guard," Volstagg confirmed. "We were told to be ready at a moment's notice, so we ended up sleeping on bedrolls on the Bifröst."

"Heimdall was probably ecstatic about _that_."

"Isn't he always?"

Thor just shook his head.

Geir gnawed on Volstagg's boot, making odd ripping noises. Volstagg looked a little horrified, yet totally unable to do anything about it lest something bigger and angrier come down to beat him upside the head.

Thor, however, chuckled, prying the serpentlet off Volstagg's poor boot. "Hey now. You are not _that_ hungry. I happen to know you've been quite well fed."

Geir drooled a little. "His boots smell _really_ good."

"Must be the oil I used to season the leather," Volstagg said, flashing a lopsided grin.

Itzel sneaked up on the boot and began to sniff it, gnawing on it experimentally.

Frigga scooped up the serpentlet and distracted her with a piece of Acromantula leg. "And then what? After you had brought him home?"

"A wedding, your Highness," Volstagg told her. "To Lady Sigyn."

"Unless your king wishes to un-marry a pair of mated quetzalcoatls, break a peace pact between Realms, seriously piss off a mated set of primal gods, piss off all of Jötunheimr as well, and quite possibly have the more spiritual half of Miðgarðr prepared to skewer him, he might wish to quickly rethink this most unwise plan of his," Severus said, tapping his fingers together. Raina nodded decisively from his shoulder as if to say "Yeah! And _that!_ "

Volstagg's eyes widened almost comically as he took in the sight of Severus again, instantly intimidated without even knowing _why_.

Severus simply rolled his eyes at the red-bearded Asgardian, which was made all the more unnerving by his unwavering crimson stare.

"Before—" Volstagg muttered quietly. "You were… um. I thought—"

"Human?" Severus asked with a sniff, his nose wrinkling on one side.

"Yes," Volstagg replied, looking very confused.

Itzel snuggled into Thor's arms, radiating absolute contentment like a cat in a sunbeam. "He thought they were just stories made up to scare Asgardian children."

Thor peered down at his niece and ruffled her silky mane. "What are you saying?"

Itzel flapped her blue-white wings, stretching them out and giving a big, lazy yawn. "Stories that say the Jötunn will take over Ásgarðr by breeding with them. That's really silly, isn't it Uncle?"

Thor shook his head amusedly. "It doesn't quite work _that_ way, Volstagg."

"Wait— you _were_ human?" He stared at Severus with wide eyes and then hastily looked away.

"It is exceedingly hard to impregnate your chosen mate as the wrong species," Severus said, utterly deadpan.

Raina hummed melodiously. "He sang for her!"

"She sang back!" Geir beamed.

Itzel rubbed her back against Thor's arms. "Makes perfect sense to _us_. So why are you freaking out over it?" She peered at Volstagg who seemed to be going through a gauntlet of dramatic and emotional facial expressions.

"We'll get more playmates," Raina purred.

"We _like_ new playmates," Geir agreed.

"We can teach them how to eat spiders!"

"And frost-seal!"

"Oh, and whale too!"

"Don't forget the shark!"

"Oh, and the ice-jellyfish!"

"Hey, Grandma Minerva's haggis!"

"Ooooo!"

"Yes!"

"And Nan Frigga's red velvet cake!"

"Mmm, cake."

The serpentlets stared adorably up at one very confused-looking Volstagg.

"You want to be able to have kids, right?"

"Mini Volstaggs?"

"Do they come out with beards?"

"Or do they have to grow in later?"

"Do you have to teach them not to step on tails?"

"Maybe he has to teach them not to step on whales?"

"Stepping on a whale would be rough."

The serpentlets all slithered onto Volstagg's lap. "If you really loved someone, you'd want to be able to be with them, right?"

"In every way."

"Right?"

They stared at him, their eyes glowing intently.

"Point taken."

The serpentlets gave fluid shrugs in response and promptly re-affixed themselves to their chosen people, exposing their bellies in blatant begs for attention.

Frigga closed her eyes, pondering a moment before turning to Thor. "That your father has neither sent word nor attempted to retrieve his 'rescue party' means he has either figured out his plan is a lost cause or else he is considering that the situation has changed in some way. I would like to think he has cause to believe that circumstances have changed, as he has not as of yet spoken to me of any plans, much less for a wedding, and I have been there and back a great many times since our guests were first… laid up."

Itzel playfully gnawed on Thor's fingers, doing her best to sound like she was trying to kill them.

Thor looked down at the little serpentlet, his face softening with love. He raised her up and snuggled her mercilessly, causing her to purr happily.

"All-Father wished to teach us both humility, but perhaps, he is working on a project of his own," he said grimly. "That is the only reason I can think of to explain why he has not made himself known to you, my lady mother, nor to us. Mjölnir is with me again. Loki is far better than fine. Random cities are not in smoldering ruins— even if Heimdall cannot see us, he can certainly see _that_."

"Heimdall is more than aware of everything that occurs in the Nine Realms," Frigga said. "He has always been in the know, and of far more than most, but he is duty bound to keep his silence." She was silent for a moment, and Naseem appeared under her hand and in her lap almost instantly. She pet his feathered mane soothingly. "Sigyn was Loki's betrothed. Odin did arrange it from an early age, ensuring that she was trained just as Loki was in the hope they would find they had much in common."

Thor frowned. "But my brother never cared for her. Not even merely in passing."

Frigga sighed deeply. "I know. But arranged marriages amongst the royal family have never been solely about love. If love came after, so much the better, but it was never actually required. I love my husband, but it was always duty first."

Thor suddenly paled, realising that his marriage to Jane could and would be summarily shoved aside in favour of duty if he didn't get a move on and quickly. Child or no child. Jane, herself, was aware of the fact that the next Asgardian king would most likely have to marry for influence, not love. It was because of this that she had resisted the idea of marriage to him from the very start. Love, she had said, was not enough.

"And what of me, mother?" Thor said, turning sombre.

"You would be expected to pick a queen upon being crowned, my son," Frigga said. The queen's face grew quite serious. "And your bride would be expected, nay, required to have lifespan to complement your own."

Frigga, while very much approving of her son's love for his Jane, gave a small, sad smile. Jane, while having proven herself well enough by wielding Mjölnir as effectively as any well-trained Asgardian warrior could, was still very much a normal, mortal human woman. Unlike the Jötunn, who were biologically equipped to ensure that their chosen mate lived just as long as they did, Asgardians, in this instance, were unfortunately not cut from the same cloth.

Suddenly, all the serpentlets started vibrating together with excitement.

Fwoop!

They were gone.

Frigga, Severus, Ishea, and Thor all exchanged worried glances.

"That's… never good."

" _ **Hnnnnnnnnnn,**_ " Hermione's whale-like song rumbled over the temple.

" _ **Nnnnnnnnngh!"**_ Loki replied.

"What was that?!" Volstagg asked rather nervously, looking like he very much wanted to jump out of bed, grab something heavy and whack something repeatedly with it.

"That, or rather _they_ , would be the reason you're not dead," Thor said pointedly, poking Volstagg with his pinky finger and pushing him back down on the bed.

"Oh, well— okay, then." Volstagg sat back down and calmly folded his hands in his lap.

Seven tiny songs thrummed above the temple, and Hermione and Loki's voices joined in. Enchanted cosmic plasma floated and swirled, mixed with the power of their mustered faiths of the believers. Severus' and Ishea's eyes began to glow, their ghostly scaled markings lighting up over their skin as their bond to their serpentlet reinforced itself. Severus' mouth descended upon Ishea's in a passionate kiss, and a whorl of faith power burst from their bodies, drifting upward to the apex of the temple grounds.

" _ **Hnnnnnnnnnnnn,"**_ Hermione sang.

" _ **Nnnnnnnnnnhhh,"**_ Loki replied.

Volstagg looked a little uncomfortable. Thor shook his head with a smug smile. "I've had to witness you loving many a woman, Volstagg. Don't tell me that true intimacy makes you that uncomfortable?"

"True, genuine intimacy is— disconcerting." Volstagg gave him an unfathomable look.

Thor chuckled. "You will find much in the way of true, genuine intimacy here, Volstagg. The like of which you have probably never seen so much of nor so openly. It is the very nature of this place now, I think. Of my brother and his queen. Together, they foster something beyond themselves. It is not like Ásgarðr, where the only true intimacy is behind closed doors."

**Fwoop!**

Pop!

**SHOOM!**

Thud.

**Flurp!**

The serpentlets phased into existence in a rush, flopping into laps and curling around necks as if they had never left. The only evidence of something having gone on was the rather odd assortment of Cheshire cat grins on their serpentine faces.

"And what were you up to, hrm?" Thor asked Itzel.

Itzel cocked her head, wearing her shiniest halo. "Taking care of business," she said cheerily.

"Mhmn," Thor said, narrowing his eyes.

At that moment, Loki and Hermione swept into the room. Loki wore the intimidating horned helm of his Asgardian armour, the sweeping emerald cape billowing behind him as he walked. On his arm, Hermione had her arm looped around his. Her robes fluttered around her— darkest black of the space lined in golden scales and rainbow feathers. Loki's eyes, however were unequivocally crimson, his skin a dark, runic-patterned cobalt. Hermione's were bright gold— reminiscent of the colour of her scales, save for the tracings of her blue, raised runic markings that spread across her skin. Their hair— fluffed out like a mane— was lined with tiny feathers.

Behind them, was Jane, and she came in behind them with a wide-eyed, confused expression on her face, as if unsure as to why she was being brought in.

"Our serpentlets have brought a gift for you, my brother," Loki said with a smug smile. "One that simply could not wait."

"Consider it, a wedding gift," Hermione said with an almost feline grin of smugness about her face.

"Lady Hermione," Frigga greeted, opening her arms.

"Lady Frigga," Hermione greeted in return, allowing the elder Asgardian to enfold her.

"Seeing as you two seem to be avoiding all things involving wedding planning, I have brought the cord with which to bind you two together," Loki said, grasping his brother's arm and wrapping it in ice-cord. He then pulled Jane over without any further ado, wrapping her up with it to, and the cord pulled them together like a Chinese finger-trap puzzle.

"Hrm, wherever will I find a goddess of marriage to officiate?" Loki pondered tapping his fingers against his chin.

Hermione placed Frigga's hands on Thor and Jane's bound hands. "Oh, just look what _**I**_ found, my love."

"Excellent." Loki's eyes smoldered with a soft red glow. "Hrm, Asgardian witnesses?" He took a large paint brush and put a large check mark on the surrounding casts. "Check and check!"

"Midgardian witnesses?" Loki pondered. "Severus you don't mind doing double duty here, hrm? Technically you have duel citizenship."

Severus raised a brow. "As you wish."

"Excellent. We're all here and we have all we need." Loki polished his horns. "We'll just sit over here while you swear your undying love to each other." He dragged Hermione over to sit on a nearby bed and the two stared up at Jane and Thor. All the serpentlets lined up in a row and hummed a passable wedding march.

"Oh, and don't forget the hammer to bless your marriage," Hermione said. "You wouldn't want to leave out Mjölnir, now would you?" She plunked Mjölnir down between them and went back to sitting next to Loki.

Volstagg's jaw hit the ground.

"Do you, Thor, son of Odin, take Lady Jane as your love and consort, your wife throughout the trials of life may they be many or few, tragic or happy, through turmoil or ecstasy, hallowed as your equal for as long as you two shall live?"

"I do." Thor looked into Jane's face, his eyes and expression full of love.

"Do you, Lady Jane, take Thor, son of Odin, as your love and consort, your husband throughout the trials of life, may they be many of few, tragic or happy, through turmoil or ecstasy, hallowed as your equal for as long as you two shall live?"

"I do," Jane said, her voice cracking with emotion.

Frigga pulled out two glowing golden rings that were hidden in her hair. "Oh, now imagine that. Hrm.." She placed the rings on their fingers. She picked up Mjolnir and placed it in Thor's and Jane's hands. I do bless your union as husband and wife. May what is forged today never falter and only grow stronger. And if there are no objections—"

Total silence.

"I, Lady Frigga, goddess of marriage, now pronounce you husband and wife."

The serpentlets pushed a beautifully carved box up to the couple with their noses and hummed.

Thor leaned down to pick it up, and Jane unlatched the tiny, golden clasp in order to lift up the lid.

Nestled in a nest of multi-coloured downy feathers, was a perfect, shimmering, almost crystalline golden apple.

Thor stared in total astonishment at the serpentlets. "Is that… an Apple of Idunn?"

"Now it's an Apple of Loki and Hermione," Itzel said.

"They blessed it."

"We fetched it!"

"We're awesome!"

The serpentlets wiggled their tails and wings.

"We might have moved the tree it came from."

"They won't miss it."

"It's down in the garden."

"It's really pretty!"

"Shhh, don't tell!"

Thor swallowed hard, lifting the apple up and bringing it gently to Jane's mouth. "I love you, my Jane, my lady wife. Will you stay with me until the very end?"

Tears flowed down Jane's face as she took a bite of the enchanted apple, and a warm gust of magic swirled around her. "Yes," Jane whispered, swallowing the gift of the enchanted apple while wearing her heart on her sleeve.

" _ **Finally!"**_ Loki said, falling backwards dramatically onto the bed, both arms sprawled out.

"Three, two, one," Hermione hummed.

"Ahhhhhggggh!" Jane moaned, instantly clutching at her abdomen. ""Ohhh god. My water just broke!"

Ishea scooped her up and promptly carried Jane off to another part of the infirmary.

The serpentlets perked together. "Oooo! Playmate! Maybe even more than one!"

"Will they hatch like us?"

"Lady Jane will lay an egg?"

"I dunno."

"Let's go watch!"

Seven serpentlets dashed off to stick their little noses right in labouring Jane's business.

" _ **You're just going to let them watch?!**_ " Thor bellowed at his brother.

"Try and stop them," Hermione pointed out almost lazily, shoving her nose into Loki's long, black hair and smiling against his neck.

Hermione pointed in the other direction. "Better get a move on. Before Jane names the children after baby booklets instead of whatever inexplicably manly Norse name you'd want."

"Ode to Pregnancy: Absent Father," Loki chimed in.

Thor immediately rushed off after his pregnant, labouring wife.

Loki and Hermione high-fived each other, not even bothering to move from the comfortable infirmary bed.

* * *

Yoki was wrapped snugly around Jane's neck, using her serpentine muscles to massage the labouring female's neck and shoulders, and Jane was panting and gasping in between contractions.

"Damnit, why couldn't _**I**_ lay a couple of eggs and just watch them hatch!" Jane moaned.

Violet and Heliotrope purred at her, snuggling against her neck, and Jane's eyes glazed over a little, her pain forgotten for the time being. They moved down to her hands and let her squeeze them for comfort, eyes bulging a little when she squeezed them just a touch _too_ hard, but they tolerated the mild discomfort for her sake.

Heliotrope projected furry hearts at her, despite it all, and Jane was starting to calm into her contractions, feeling a little less homicidal. After going through the cuddly phase and the don't-you-dare-touch-me phase, Jane was finally settling in for the next phase: less-pain-please-thanks.

Thankfully, between the serpentlet massage, the booklet support group, and the patient tending of Lady Ishea, who which Jane kept describing as a goddess on earth, Jane was ready to evict her womb-interloper.

Thor, on the other hand, was pacing the stone floor into a well-worn path in his father-to-be nervousness, so much so that Severus forced an extra-strong dose of calming draught into his mouth and bade him drink it or else. "You're giving me tachycardia just watching you," Severus hissed at him.

Severus provided a few pain potions customised for the needs of the varied temple residents, stating that the temple grounds did something "different" to those who that lived there, especially on a regular basis. Perhaps, he mused, it was the faith of having one's living gods so close and so real, and perhaps it was the magic they tended. Whatever the reason, what worked on the temple grounds was different, and the people that lived there (or creatures, as it were) were imbued with a different sort of living magic that required specialised tending.

Thankfully, Severus and Ishea were hardly unprofessional, and they automatically made adjustments without thinking about it. Hermione and Loki tended the magical flows as ones born to it, and even the serpentlets seemed to have a good grasp of the general basics. What it meant in the long term, however, for those who lived on the temple grounds, no one was quite sure just yet.

Minerva and Frigga both seemed as though thousands of years had been lifted away from their souls, and the ambassadors who lived in the island residences reported splendid good health. The goblins had experienced a population explosion of baby goblets, and they were absolutely ecstatic about that turn of events. Ironically, the fertile land and people seemed to affect everyone but the nearby Wizarding Britain, and many of the faithful were still trying to figure out _why_ when the lands so far away, such as South America, seemed to be flourishing with record gains.

Hermione, Minerva, and Frigga joined Ishea in tending Jane while Loki practically hogtied his brother in his coils and pinned him down until the calming draught did its work. Jane seemed to appreciate the attention, and it didn't seem to matter to her that Thor was out of commission at least for the time being. As long as he was there for the end, Jane was good.

Minerva moved her cool hands across Jane's forehead, transferring cool compresses to ease her suffering, and Jane smiled in sweet, blessed relief. "Just a wee bit longer, lass," she said. "Then you can sleep away for a while."

"Ishea, how do the Jötunn birth their children?" Jane asked in between pants.

The giantess smiled. "Water birth. The water takes the weight off, and we support ourselves on cords and let nature do the rest. We could probably set something up here to be the same, but we'd have to adjust the temperature of the water so it wouldn't instantly kill you."

Jane laughed, despite herself. "A little numbing cold might be helpful at this point. Maybe not quite _THAT_ cold, though."

Ishea smiled.

" _ **Eeuughhrrrr!**_ " Jane moaned. "I think this is it! Oh, god."

Ishea quickly moved herself at the foot of the bed. Heliotrope and Violet squeaked as Jane squeezed them tightly. The serpentlets hummed in musical encouragement as Thor stumbled in from the side. He placed his large hands over her arm, carefully avoiding the dirty looks he earned from the books when he tried to hold her hand.

"Push, push, push," Ishea guided. "Make it count. You can do it!"

" _ **Agggghhhhh!**_ " Jane screamed, bearing down hard with all her might.

She panted. She screamed. She pushed for all she was worth.

Minerva held one hand, book and all, and Hermione the other as Thor stood at the head of the bed, gazing down at her and rubbing her shoulders comfortingly.

With a large gush of fluid and blood, Ishea caught the emerging firstborn of Jane and Thor with the smooth snatch of a towel. She rubbed the baby down vigorously until the baby cried loudly. "Ah, there's the voice. There's a good cry. Keep trying, little one. Take some good, deep breaths of your birthplace."

She dipped him down under the warm heating area that Hermione had crafted months previously, washed the babe off, and swaddled him expertly with record speed. She placed the baby against Jane's breast so he could keep skin-to-skin contact, and then went back to the foot of the bed.

"Nngah?" Jane managed.

"You're not quite done yet, my dear," Ishea smiled.

"Oh _hell_ no," Jane moaned.

Thor seemed torn between being really happy and trying not to show that he was really, really happy. The serpentlets were all examining the swaddled baby with curiosity in spades.

"He's all pink!"

"And wrinkly."

Serpentlet eyes stared as they stuck out their tongues to curiously taste the new arrival's scent.

"Will he have wings?"

"Can he teleport?"

"Will he be able to go on grand adventures?"

"Tomorrow?"

"Too soon?"

"Day after tomorrow?"

"I dunno, he looks pretty uninspired. Might want to give him at least a week."

"A week?"

"That's so long!"

The serpentlets gently nosed the baby.

Jane let out a scream as she was suddenly beset by another strong contraction, and the the baby went tumbling off her chest. The serpentlets immediately swirled around him, cushioning him as they carried him off to a safer spot, out of the way of the flailing mother. A string of booklets hurried up and cuddled around the baby, allowing themselves to be used as fuzzy cushions.

Severus snagged Thor by the collar and dragged him back, scooping up the newborn infant and shoving him into the new father's arms. "Baby. Father. Father. Baby. Stop pacing around like a dunderhead and hold your child."

Thor's eyes widened as he froze in place, unsure of what to do.

"Mjölnir has better child-rearing sense than you," Severus muttered, taking the infant and demonstrating a proper holding and rocking technique. "I'm starting to think that Jötunn instincts are far better for the survival of the species than anything Ásgarðr has to offer."

Frigga laughed, taking the infant and rocking it tenderly before Severus decided to cast it out the window. "Just my son, Severus. Not all Asgardians are failures at fathering, even if they don't come imprinted with infant caring instincts."

Severus rolled his eyes.

"Even if Thor may have gained his fatherly skills impairment from my dear husband," Frigga said with a wink, causing Severus and Hermione to snort together.

"Hey! Father taught me a _lot_ of things!" Thor protested.

"List the ones that didn't involve weapons and rulership."

Thor paused, frowned, and sighed.

Ishea had the next infant washed and swaddled before Thor could come up with an answer, placing him on his tired mum's chest as she waited for signs of either baby number three or placenta, whichever came first. As if an answer to a prayer, Jane delivered the placentas, and she seemed thankful for that her first childbirth wasn't triplets or worse.

The serpentlets hummed in harmony as Hermione and Loki stood together. Jane weakly held the second child out to them. Hermione cradled the newborn infant in her arms as Loki cradled the firstborn son. They rocked the infants together, bodies rocking back and forth just like their serpent forms. They hummed together, leaning over the infants to press their heads to the little ones' foreheads.

" _ **Hnnnnnn,"**_ Hermione sang.

" _ **Nnnnnnh,"**_ Loki replied.

Their combined warble of song conjured a swirl of cosmic plasma. Hermione sang a note, and the serpentlets tried to match. Loki sang another, and they tried to match that too. Tendrils of magic formed and solidified, securely moving around the two infants. Hermione sang another note, and the serpentlets imitated. The tendrils swirled and wove together, becoming more and more solid. Loki sang a note too, and Geir, Vidar, and Naseem imitated. The tendrils solidified even more, wrapping around the two infants. Then, with a soft whoosh, the vapour slided into each baby and dissipated.

"Hello, Terje," Loki purred to the firstborn infant. "Welcome to Miðgarðr, nephew."

"Hello, Leif," Hermione whispered to the second-born boy, tenderly kissing his forehead. "Welcome to Miðgarðr, little one. You have a lot of growing to do, so rest up."

"Wait, how did you know their names?" Jane boggled as they placed both babies on their mother's chest again.

Hermione smiled. "They told me in their dreams."

* * *

"Mum!"

"Mummy!"

"Hn?" Hermione opened one sleepy eye to regard her offspring.

"We do good?" the serpentlets asked, all seven pairs of eyes looking to Hermione for some sign of approval.

"Hn." Hermione closed her eye again.

The baby serpents wilted. "Aww!"

Hermione scooped all seven of her serpentlets up and hugged them tightly enough that they squeaked. "You did good, my darlings."

"Yay!"

"Yay!"

They snuggled into their mother's mane of fur and feathers with pleasure, wriggling and cavorting playfully.

Hermione closed her eyes again, feeling a bit tired after all of the wedding, birthing, naming, blessing, and reviving of the remaining members of the Warriors Three plus Sif. It seemed that the serpentlets had managed to thaw the hearts of the other two ice-casted warriors at last, but not before they very thoroughly ensorcelled the contingent of guards that had come down with them first.

The guards were the most thoroughly mind-rolled of the lot, practically singing praises of the little serpentlets like a devout believer and then some. The newfound faith, however, had allowed the magic of the place to finally take root and allow them to be healed, and Hermione was thankful for that. Lady Ishea had other duties to attend than nursing the foolish Asgardian war party— like the growing child in her belly. Ishea, however, like most Jötunn females, took everything in stride. Being pregnant didn't change what needed to be done, no matter what Severus had to say about it. His growing instincts to protect his mate had not gotten any duller. Both Hermione and Loki found it endearing. Severus really couldn't be more happy with his situation. Having a mate and child on the way— a child he had quite joyously conceived— was more than enough to tip the scales of his faith into overdrive, and that fed Raina very, very well. Neither quetzalcoatl was complaining there.

Hermione and Loki were proud of their little serpentlets— more so that they were making sound choices in their priest and priestesses, even at such a "young" age. The elder quetzalcoatls hadn't chosen their priest or priestess, feeling that they could wait until the right one came along. To them, it was more important that their serpentlets have the best picks to choose from, as the bond would provide something essential to them no matter what place they chose to live in when they left the temple grounds to find their own place. Whenever that would be, hundreds to thousands of years from now, they would have a strong bond with someone who loved them. That was what mattered. Young they may be, but the serpentlets had a lot of ancestral memories inside them. Eventually, worldly knowledge would temper what they had started with, and the little charmers would be ready to take on the world, Realms, or whatever came in between.

Loki's arm slid around her waist and pulled her closer as they shared the makeshift bed in the infirmary. Hermione hummed softly, snuggling into his warmth, even with the wonderful coolness of his skin, he radiated heat like a furnace. She, much like Minerva in a sunbeam, loved to wallow in his heat. His blue fingers wove with hers, and she smiled, enjoying the feel of his skin on hers. The thrum of their joined markings sent a joyous rapture through every nerve of her body, and she had never once complained. It had always been so, or so she remembered, even long ago when she was but a young sorceress of Ásgarðr. His touch, and his touch alone was… _magic_.

Yet Loki had always been more than a Jötunn, and perhaps she had always been more than a mere sorceress of Ásgarðr. Instead of becoming fully Jötunn, they had both become quetzalcoatls, merging somewhere in between. Their serpentlets were, and Hermione had no doubt of it, fully quetzalcoatl. They would be whatever it was they chose in life in due time.

One thing was for certain, no matter what the future brought, Hermione would always have Loki at her side, and Loki would always have her. That was what had been meant to be, what was destined to be. She could no more deny her love and desire for Loki than he could resist her. They were two sides of the same coin.

As Hermione rolled over on her side, the serpentlets curled up against her body, purring along with Rith, Grim, and Violet and their umpteen fuzzy booklets. Loki spooned against her back, pressing his face into her mane. Hogun and Fandrall had finally broken free of the casts that had held them for months, and even Sif, (who Hermione couldn't help but compare to Xena Warrior Princess of the Muggle television show), had surrendered to faith enough to be healed.

All, save for _one_.

Sigyn, goddess of fidelity, remained fully entombed in her ice cast, her bones painfully shattered into countless smithereens.

Lady Ishea wasn't sure how it was even possible, but it seemed the goddess was somehow digressing instead of improving, almost as if her body rejected her very presence in the place she was currently lying, likely all the way down to her most basic cellular level. Hermione wondered how that was even _possible_ , but the evidence before her was stark and incontrovertible. Ishea said that it was probably because she, Ishea, was Jötunn— Sigyn's hatred of her entire species did not endear her to the injured Asgardian goddess in her care— but Hermione wasn't sure if that was the only thing going on.

"Everything she has grown up believing is being challenged, love," Loki said into her ear, pulling her close. "Not everyone can be as accepting as you. That is your gift. Your very nature. Her ingrained prejudices are extremely strong and stubborn, but underneath, far below the surface, it is fragile and cracking. Unlike the others, she has nothing to fill in the holes left behind. Take away the things she always believed to be truth and she is left with nothing, not even faith. Perhaps _especially_ not that."

Hermione pulled Loki's arm against her and snuggled into it, entrapping his hand so she could rub up against it. She felt him tighten the wrap of his arms around her, a soft purring growl coming from the back of his throat. "I love you," she whispered, closing her eyes to more completely enjoy the feel of his loving embrace.

Loki's teeth answered her, pressing into the soft skin of her neck as he left his mark upon her again, sending a jolt of exquisite pleasure shooting from head-to-toe. Hermione let out a soft moan of blissful contentment, forgetting for that moment that they would need to deal with the problem of a very broken, cast-away goddess of Ásgarðr.

That would wait for later.

* * *

_**Mystery Woman in Body Cast Found at London Bus Stop** _

_A woman bound in a body cast, wrapped entirely bandages and plaster from head-to-toe was found last night at a London bus stop near Hyde Park. The Boathouse bus stop, just south of Serpentine Road overlooking The Serpentine Lake, hadn't seen any unusual activity and there was no one who witnessed anyone dropping her off, let alone the arrival of the mysterious, near-mummified woman._

" _It's not like this sort of thing happens 'round here every day!" Mrs Eugenia Merryweather exclaimed as she held her two grandchildren to her bosom. "I mean, someone obviously had to have been taking proper care of her, and she didn't exactly walk here under her own steam!"_

" _Aliens," Mr Bartholomew Godfrey remarked succinctly, not even looking up from his newspaper and cuppa._

_The mysterious cast-bound woman was immediately rushed to the Royal London Hospital, where she is being treated for extensive crushing bone damage._

" _It's like her bones have been practically atomised!" noted trauma doctor, Dr Phineas Grey, said with a disbelieving shake of his head. "I know that strange things have been going on in the world ever since superhuman beings have been popping up, but this isn't that. There was no momentous battle in London or even so much as a mere twig out of place at Hyde Park. We simply up and found a mysterious woman in a cast. Other than that, we can only treat her and hope we can get some identification photos out so her undoubtedly worried family can find her."_

_Sadly, the cast-bound woman had no identification attached to her, so identification will have to wait until a photo can be taken by authorities. Her unfortunate mental state, however, has not been conducive to learning the woman's identity, as she tells anyone who will stand still long enough to listen that she's the Asgardian Goddess of Fidelity and that we are all but mortal heathens._

" _I can only imagine that whoever had been taking care of her previously had finally come to the end of their rope with her, but we won't know the particulars until we can ascertain her true identity."_

" _Someone is worried sick about her, most likely," Dr Grey said._

_When asked how long the woman would have to remain in full traction, the doctors have indicated that she will require extensive treatment for several months until the cast can be removed, perhaps even longer as many of her bones are fractured in multiple places._

" _It's almost like a bomb went off right in front of her, except for a complete lack of burns that one would certainly expect if that had been the case," boggled Regina Thornwhistle-Sykes, nursing supervisor._

_Officials seem to believe that the mysterious woman is likely a foreigner, as no one has reported anyone fitting her description as a missing person._

* * *

King Laufey was having the best day of his life. Minerva, Ishea, and Hermione were all having a picnic together out on the ice-floes and his son and quite a few new Jötunn and their potential mates were learning the old traditions together. The future of his people looked very bright, and the relationship between himself and his son seemed to be well on the mend.

The sun was rising clear above on this particular afternoon, and Laufey had forgotten just how beautiful it made the snows, Jötunn vision had always made the sharper details surface even when others found it blinding. What he considered to be utterly mundane and ordinary didn't start to change until he watched some of the young humans struggling not to freeze to death under many layers of warm clothes, while he and his people wore the equivalent of light gossamer in comparison.

To their credit, however, much as Severus had done when he had gone on his own first hunt, they followed the old ways without trying to cheat the system and build a bonfire for the middle of the camp. Laufey found that to be worthy of praise, as few had really paid attention to Jötunn ways before this strange and yet so comforting peace between Jötunheimr and Miðgarðr. Though, technically, there was peace between Jötunheimr and Ásgarðr as well, there wasn't a Jötunn alive who didn't know the pact was really between them and the Quetzalcoatls— wherever they might make their home.

The Jötunn were not complaining. True peace was a balm that soothed like nothing else could. True peace sealed in the most traditional of manners, well, that was even better. Not only had his son taken a mate to seal such a peace, but others had joined with his people in willing conversion, not to mention Laufey's own new queen, plucked from Miðgarðr and most happily converted on the pristine snows of Alakshomr— his most favoured hunting ground. He wasn't going to let such a wondrous woman get away— not if she was truly interested in him.

She was.

She _still_ was. Mrrrr.

The paltry peace between Jötunheimr and Ásgarðr had been brokered by force. The peace between Jötunheimr and Miðgarðr, however, had been ushered in with passion and unmistakable love. Nothing else would spread the marks and make children possible. And, oh, there were children. Laufey would never complain that his grandchildren were feathered serpents, no. That was to be celebrated from the oldest of stories that sprung from Mimisbrunnr, or Mimir's Well. The oldest of wisdom resided there— so much so that Odin himself had abased himself to Mimir for but a sip from the well's wisdom once upon a time.

The quetzalcoatl was a sacred being all on its own, but to have the solar and lunar pair united was nothing short of the holiest of cosmic signs— a sign of good fortune, health, and fertile blessings upon posterity. He wondered if Odin had even known what potential had been written on the soul of his premature son any more than he himself hadn't known. He wondered if _he_ had caught his son together with an Asgardian, would he have been any more accepting of the pairing?

Laufey smiled. He knew the answer. It wasn't a true mating if there were no children. There were no children if the acceptance wasn't full and willing. If his son chose an Asgardian, and she had truly accepted him, there would have been nothing to feel shame about. She would have been Jötunn. That would have been clear enough proof that there were _no_ untruths held between them.

Perhaps, Laufey mused, this was why the Asgardians so feared the Jötunn. They made up the most outrageous stories, thinking that the Jötunn would just rape their way across their people and forcibly convert them. So many stories of giants who wished to take wives from the Æsir, and all of them were twisted so that the giants were always the losers in the end. Mind you, most of the stories had the giants wanting not only a goddess but the sun and moon or some other such nonsense. What would any Jötunn do with a sun and moon? It was far better off in the sky, providing sufficient light to hunt by. All such stories were twisted and shamelessly grandiose. Some were even true, he had to admit, at least in part. But some others… not so much.

Laufey smiled as he watched Severus teach the young human how to properly craft a spear. The formerly-human wizard had fully embraced all that was Jötunn, instincts and all, and he was an exceedingly good teacher with a wealth of experience and perspective that helped him teach the young hopefuls in a way that wouldn't get them killed in the process. That was really the goal in any hunt. A dead hunter did no one a good service. Not their mate, most assuredly, and definitely not the hunter, let alone if there were also younglings to feed. A Jötunn would live as long as the snows themselves, provided they weren't stupid, didn't get themselves into a war and get end up getting themselves killed. The goal was always survival. Jötunheimr was harsh enough without useless inside bickering, and while Laufey himself had fought his way to the position of king, it hadn't been solely earned via the cracking of heads. It _did_ help that he could knock heads together quite efficiently in a pinch, but that was more posturing like the ice-mammoth or the frost-sabre with the biggest fangs. Even the beasts tried to avoid fighting whenever possible. Jötunheimr itself was hostile and unforgiving enough.

Still, it was home, and it was quickly becoming a far better place. The new addition of Severus brought magic into the mix— something Laufey hadn't been quite sure about until he realised that it was just like any other tool. It could harm or benefit depending on the wielder, and Severus came from from a pool of beings almost straight from the mouth of the quetzalcoatls. Laufey trusted him implicitly, and if Jötunn began to show signs of such sensitivity in the future, he would trust him to be able to teach them right. Severus and Minerva both could usher in such changes safely, of that, Laufey had no doubt at all. There was, too, Hermione and Loki themselves, both inherently magical creatures attuned both sorcery and the cosmic flow. Between them all, no Jötunn with magical abilities would go untrained or worse, end up being ostracised by their society.

Laufey definitely wasn't complaining. Anything that improved the quality of life for his people was something to be treasured, not feared. Already the blessings were pouring in, and that didn't even include the filled caches of Acromantula parts and the gift of frost-tolerant Acromantulas for the future. His people were chalking him up as the best king in thousands of years, which amused him. There weren't any other challengers to his throne even before recent events, but there were definitely not any now. Who would want to ruin such a good thing?

"I'm glad you decided to come with us, Luna," Hermione said. "I haven't seen you in quite some time."

"Well, I did have to help father with his Crumple-Horned Snorkack problem," Luna said. "Turns out they eat socks. Father couldn't find a single sock to wear."

"How… horrible," Hermione chuckled.

"I told him he could just start wearing wooden shoes or Muggle deck shoes, but he didn't listen," Luna said sadly.

"How are you and Draco doing?"

Luna sighed. "He's a really good kisser, but I think he's much too busy with the new brewery business to have time for a girlfriend. That and—"

"His mother?"

"Yeah," Luna agreed. "He's still trying to get back in touch with her, and he's become more than a bit obsessed. A lot like father is when he's out hunting something, only with socks."

"Can't forget those."

Luna nodded. "It wouldn't be so bad if they ate both halves of a pair, but they only eat one half, so you end up with a bunch of socks with no matching mate."

"The horror!"

"Indeed," Luna replied, somewhat dreamily. "It's okay, though. I think Draco finally realised that if we _did_ get married that he'd have to give up on finding his mother, who would have never approved of his marrying a Lovegood. Bad enough that his father is all furry and drooly forever. He at least holds onto some hope for his mum."

"Somehow, I don't think he'll ever be happy there," Hermione said grimly. "He doesn't want to marry a 'perfect pureblood princess', but that is _exactly_ what his mother will want and expect."

"He's already living with Harry and Sirius at Grimmauld Place," Luna remarked with a shrug. "I'm thinking he'll end up living the perpetual bachelor life right along with them and stealing cable service from his Muggle neighbors."

Hermione sighed. "Even my serpentlets have given up on Harry. They all say his fate is far too frazzled to read."

"Do you ever try to read it?"

"No," Hermione said firmly. "There are some things you don't want to know about your friends. My serpentlets have no boundaries or shame, but I at least _try_ to keep my snout out of his private business. Now, if he could stop dreaming about sausages and beer kegs, that would be really great."

Luna chuckled. "There are worse things to dream of."

"Yes, he could be dreaming like Sirius Black," Hermione said darkly, her face twisting into a scowl. "I wonder why he hasn't been struck down with lightning yet."

"Knowing Mr Black it probably involves some random food fetish and Rosmerta tending the bar in her starkers," Luna snarked.

Hermione eyed Luna somewhat suspiciously.

"No _**way**_ ," Luna laughed.

Hermione's eyebrow twitched.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," Luna apologised.

"I find I much prefer Alastor's dreams," Hermione said. "He dreams of beautiful, peaceful seashores and cool saltwater breezes."

Luna nodded in fervent agreement. " _Much_ better."

"Man needs to find himself a nice, Jötunn female and settle down," Minerva offered sagely.

"Isn't that your answer for everything nowadays?"

"Worked out well for me, lassie," Minerva said with a saucy wink.

"I dunno, I am thinking a Jötunn male would be much more _my_ style," Luna said casually, peering off to the cluster of young hunters. Some of them seemed to gain a little more enthusiasm for their hunting upon hearing Luna's startling confession.

"Ahhh, lass," Minerva purred. "I think you might've just inspired the young, unmarried hunters to work harder."

"Something had to get them inspired," Laufey chuckled as he leaned down to give his wife a kiss before walking off to check on the hunters.

There was a yell and scramble as Loki suddenly hoisted up a very large frost-seal from the frozen waters. It was still struggling mightily, but Loki pulled it up and thrust his spear directly into the beast's heart swiftly to end its struggle. He roared his victory, slapping his chest, and the other hunters bowed to him in acknowledgement of his successful kill.

A grinning Loki looped a harness around the carcass and dragged it back towards where the ladies were sitting to observe the hunt, pleased and happy to have succeeded in not only making the traditional spear but making use of it quite successfully.

As per tradition, he skinned the seal right in front of them, stretching the hide out on a sturdy frame with its own sinew. The glistening, blue-grey hide still shimmered with the ocean's icy waters. He carved a generous slice of the blubber off the seal and knelt beside Hermione. "My mate, will you share with me of my first kill, that you may taste of my prowess?"

Hermione smiled at him, warm gold flashing across her eyes. She leaned in and took a large bite of his offering, making a big show of chewing it and savouring the rich flavour. "I acknowledge your prowess as a hunter, my mate. Our children shall never go hungry."

Seven little pairs of eager eyes peered at the carcass quite hungrily.

Hermione took her sabre-tooth knife and claw and began to carve into the carcass, separating the tastiest parts into seven neat piles. She then nodded to her hungry little vacuum cleaners, and they promptly descended upon the piles with gusto, making it all disappear. Hermione, in the meantime, cut deeper into the carcass in order to expose the guts, and she carefully separated out the intestines and the organs into separate piles, pulling out the bladder and other useful pieces. Loki then moved those piles to the growing communal pile, which the hunters would distribute according to the needs of the group at the end of the day.

The meat was always kept apart from the more succulent blubber, and since this day was about preserving the sealskin for tanning, the hides were immediately parted from the rich blubber.

She cleaned the length of the intestine with her fingers, cleaning it thoroughly. She stuffed the insides with key pieces of finely chopped organs and fat, using her hands to carefully knot braid them before casting them into the boiling pot on the fire. Then, even as the serpentlets were nosing around looking for more to eat, she lifted up the still meaty spine and set it down in front of them.

The serpentlets bristled with excitement, watching her closely to make sure she wasn't teasing them, and when she nodded to them, they pored over the bones, cleaning them down to the white.

"Your family approves of your kill, my mate," Hermione said with a warm smile. "And I approve of you."

Loki smiled at her, descending upon her mouth for a passionate kiss.

Even after feeding the serpentlets, there was plenty of food for many, many more meals, and Loki and Hermione worked together to bundle it up and preserve it for storage. The ice-seal, like most of Jötunheimr, had been a huge prize, fit for feeding full-sized Jötunn. Nothing would go to waste.

"You remembered the lessons well," Minerva said to Hermione, nodding her approval of the braided sausage cooking over the fire.

"Of course, Minerva," Hermione said with a nod. "I do not wish to embarrass my mate by being an awful preparer of his hunt." She winked at the elder Jötunn witch.

"You always were a most diligent student, Hermione," Minerva said fondly. "Soaking up all of the knowledge you could."

Hermione smiled.

Minerva stared at the heaping pile "demonstration" results that Laufey and Severus had brought back earlier in the day, showing the young hunters what was to be done. They both had, of course, brought back most impressive hauls, not that anyone was doubting either of them in the slightest. Ishea had proven a speedy and experienced butcher, polishing off the large task in mere minutes. She had eagerly taught them all of her time-saving tricks, sharing her wealth of knowledge with her well-known compassion.

Ishea had also taught Minerva and Hermione how to make a proper sabre-tooth knife as well as the claw tool for the skinning and butchering, guiding them on how to carve the runes to temper their strength as well as carve the handles. Luna had taken to the lessons with enthusiasm, and Hermione and Minerva had both noted exactly _how_ interested certain young male Jötunn were in Luna's boundless enthusiasm.

As to prove this point, a Jötunn hunter named Eirik let out a victorious roar, slapping his broad chest with his fists after having speared his seal. The others seemed to look at him with a combination of congratulations and open envy. He had parked himself on one of the furthest parts of the flow, so it was taking him a fair bit of time to drag his prize back to the camp. The others hadn't been inactive as much as they had been unsuccessful in either the final blow or surprising the frost-seal. While no one was expected to be instantly successful, it was obvious that the success of others was giving some of the younger hunters delusions of a grand victory well beyond their skill level.

Some of the young hunters were not even of age yet, so it wasn't like they were there to impress a potential mate. Laufey had encouraged them to come because learning life skills was far from a bad thing at any age. All of the young hunters seemed quite keen on learning to hunt from their king while their own fathers were out on the floes somewhere else, probably lugging back their hunt to their own mates even as their sons learned to hunt from Laufey.

As Eirik hauled in his frost-seal, he grasped the egg-shard pendant around his neck to shrink his giant self down to a "human" size, lugging the seal without missing a beat. He then approached and dropped down to one knee beside Luna, his knife flashing as he carved a fresh piece of rich blubber from the carcass.

"My lady Luna," he rumbled warmly. "I have hunted the great frost-seal. Pray, will you be the first to partake of my successful hunt, that I might gain your approval?"

Hermione and Minerva exchanged significant glances, grinning from ear-to-ear.

Luna looked up at Eirik rather dreamily. "Well, you did catch an exceptionally fine specimen. And I would never wish to insult your hunting prowess."

The young Jötunn smiled, gently bringing the offering to her mouth, and Luna made it disappear, her eyes closing in pleasure as she savoured the rich flavour. "I believe your hunt is more than satisfactory," Luna announced formally. "I approve of your hunt, Eirik."

Eirik, clearly more than fascinated with the little blonde witch, decided to test his luck a bit further. "Would you do me the honour of butchering my kill, Lady Luna?"

Luna tilted her head. "Oh, I suppose so. It's here, after all. And I would hate to see it go to waste. Oh, and I have a knife. That's a very good sign, yes?" Luna promptly went to work, tearing into the carcass like a seasoned professional, having obviously paid very close attention to the butchering that had occurred around her.

Eirik, in the meantime, was utterly fascinated, watching Luna work with rapt attention.

Hermione and Minerva noted the slumped shoulders of a few other Jötunn males who were still out on the floes, having not been oblivious to Luna's acceptance of Eirik's frost-seal carcass. Minerva winked at Hermione, mouthing, "The early bird gets the worm."

It took some time for Luna to finish, having most likely never carved a seal in her life, but when she was done there were many neat piles of meat, all arranged by size, shape, and colour. Minerva muttered something half under her breath about bloody showoff Ravenclaws, and Hermione just grinned from ear-to-ear. When Luna was done, she deftly carved a slice of the heart and held it between her fingers for Eirik. "I believe that this is the proper organ with which to offer?"

Eirik's bright ruby eyes glowed as he mouth closed over the offering, taking it straight from her fingers, his tongue licking across her fingers to relieve them of the random streaks of blood. Luna gave a soft moan of pure desire the moment Eirik's tongue worked its magic, and he immediately growled in response— utterly primal and wanting.

Witch and Jötunn came together almost immediately, not even bothering to notice that they had an audience. Luna's moans of pleasure only egged him on even more, and the pair were all over each other, hands, mouths, legs, and everything in between.

The serpentlets just stared, their tails twitching slightly.

"Oooo!"

"Well, that was quick!"

"Fastest courtship this side of Jötunheimr!"

"Don't mind us!"

"I don't think they mind _any_ thing."

"Do you think they'll—"

"Oh _my_."

"We should probably look away. Private time!"

The serpentlets resolutely turned away and rushed up to cuddle against their mother.

Ishea had a rather amused look on her face that seemed to be the universal expression of, "Ahhh, impetuous youth."

Ishea pulled out a tin of ice-paste and drew it across the glowing markings that were quickly taking over Luna's increasingly exposed body. "As elder, I do witness your union. May the ice sing your children to sleep, that they may never know loneliness."

"I, Minerva, do witness your union," Minerva said with an amused intake of breath. "May the frosts favour you eternally, blessing your family with its gentle kiss."

"I, Laufey, do witness your union," Laufey said, leaning on his spear. "May the winter's chill temper your emotions so that the heat of anger can never melt the bonds of love that you share."

Laufey looked quite smug. "I'm going to have to start having everyone of age carry jars of bonding paint with them just in case they happen to witness spontaneous acts of consummation."

Hermione leaned over and tossed an egg-shard necklace over Luna's neck.

Luna let out an ecstatic scream of pleasure as her lover brought her to the edge and hurled her shrieking over the precipice. She let out a low moan of satisfaction as Eirik pulled her up into a sitting position and drew a fur stole around her shoulders. Luna's now-crimson eyes were half-lidded in obvious lust, and her breathing was heavy. Her blue skin was light, the colour of an American robin's egg.

"Again please," Luna murmured. "That was most excellent."

Eirik gave her a broad grin, scooped her up, and carried her off to a nearby ice cave.

Hermione and Loki exchanged glances. "And you think _I'm_ brazen?" Loki asked both eyebrows rising high into his hair.

"Oh, you are most definitely brazen, lover," Hermione informed him with a teasing smile.

Loki playfully stuck his tongue out at her, the forked tip flicking lightly against the tip of her nose.

"Draco is going to lock himself up in his bedroom with that new Shih Tzu puppy of his and not come out for an entire month," Hermione sighed.

"He's had more than enough time to claim Luna like he meant it," Loki pointed out fairly. "This is obviously what she wanted."

"To be taken in front of an audience?"

"Living the dream?" Loki asked quite innocently.

" _ **LOKI!"**_ Hermione spluttered.

"Hmmmmm, want to try it out?" Loki asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

A low, sensuous moan came echoing from across the floes, and Laufey swiftly turned his head to gaze off into the distance. "Hrm, it seems we are not quite done with witnessing spontaneous unions today, my friends. Let's go."

Laufey, Minerva, and Ishea all stood and walked out onto the floes towards the moaning in question.

"Who knew Jötunn biology could be _this_ exciting?" Loki said with a wicked grin.

"I find I'm suddenly glad that there aren't too many Asgardians here at this particular moment," Hermione speculated. "I have a feeling that all of those odd, misguided rumours of Jötunn taking over the Nine Realms by mating with anything that moves might raise their ugly heads once more and practically beg to be smashed back down."

Loki just shrugged. "It will take time to whittle down all of the old, ingrained prejudices, my love. Remember, they are many, many thousands of years in the making."

Hermione looked over his shoulder and smiled.

"What are you up to, lover?" Loki asked, knowing _that_ smile all too well.

"Oh, nothing, just another empty, unused ice cave over there a ways."

Loki turned to count serpentlets, and found them all dogpiled on top of each other, sound asleep by the fire. He turned back to Hermione. "How long do you think a large meal of seal will keep them peacefully digesting?"

Hermione grinned. "Long enough."

Loki hummed appreciatively, pulling his mate close and breathing huskily in her ear. "I am nothing if not an opportunistic creature."

Hermione hummed, snuggling into his chest. "And that's why I love you."

"Do you?"

"Oh, I most definitely _do_."

Loki purred into her ear, his tongue darting out and wriggling in just so.

Hermione and Loki promptly disappeared in a stunning blur of motion, leaving the serpentlets all snoring softly under a warm seal hide.

By the time Laufey, Minerva, and Ishea made their way back to the camp, they found seven snoozing serpentlets curled up in oblivious balls of food coma and the camp suspiciously missing both Loki and Hermione. A flushed, sheepish-looking, blue-skinned Theodore Nott walked side-by-side with a very pretty female Jötunn, Kelda, with whom he had been spending quite a bit of time with since the grand opening of the Asgardian Brothers Brewery.

"Might as well sit down and wait for them to find out," Laufey said with a rather smug smile on his face. "I have a feeling that if you don't, you may just find yourself sleeping _under_ the ice instead of over it."

Theo swallowed hard and sat down by the fire, pulling Kelda over to sit next to him.

Severus returned shortly after, a chain of younger Jötunn hunters working together to drag another very large seal in. "Care to share anything _else_ with the class, Mr Nott?"

Theo flushed a startling shade of purple, trying to meld himself with the snow by sheer force of will. "No, I'm… good."

Kelda purred into Theo's ear, "You most certainly _are_."

Theo started breathing a bit heavily, becoming all-too-interested all over again.

Severus smacked him swiftly upside the head with his open palm. "I look forward to seeing you in my basic fatherhood skills class tomorrow morning, Mr Nott. Seeing as you have successfully made the transformation, that means you have already successfully impregnated your new mate. Congratulations."

Theo's jaw hit the ground shortly before he sagged into it himself, falling unconscious right there on the ice.

Severus peered over at Theo's unconscious body. "Too soon?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Heh. Heh. Heh. Jötunn population baby boomer era has now been activated!


	5. Blue Looks Good On You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I blame—Theo. It's all his fault. It really is.
> 
> Beta Love: The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01, Commander Shepard

**Chapter 5**

**Blue Looks Good On You**

_Happy is the man who finds a true friend, and far happier is he who finds that true friend in his wife. - Franz Schubert_

* * *

"Oh, stuff a sock in it, Draco!" Theo groaned, smacking Draco on the back, wincing as he once again underestimated his newfound strength and sent Draco tumbling arse over teakettle to crash into the far wall. "Sorry."

Draco lay flat on his back where he had slid, staring blindly up at the ceiling. "It's totally not fair, Theo. I get distracted for a few days—"

" _Months_ more like," Theo pointed out grimly. "You went from shagging the girl senseless every day to pushing her away just so you could go lure your mummy out from whatever hole she chose to dig herself into. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that Luna was pretty lonely, and Jötunn are—" Theo frowned, pondering on how to phrase it. "We are _very_ attuned to our mates."

Draco just huffed, blowing a lock of shaggy blond hair out of his face.

Theo sighed. "Look, mate," he said, leaning in on his spear with a reflexive need to have it close. "You want Luna to be happy right?"

"Yeah."

"She's definitely happy now," Theo said and then laughed. "I think she finally found someone as utterly indecent as she is when it comes to flaunting social norms. I mean, she converted in front of Merlin and everyone next to a pile of frost-seal entrails, mate. I think Eirik thinks he's hit the jackpot there. Not that I, ah… fared any less in the lack of common decency stakes."

Theo flushed a little, finding at least a tiny smidge of shame hidden deep within his Jötunn hormone-saturated brain.

"Did you _really_ go down on your lady on top of an iceberg?" Draco just had to ask.

"On a pile of warm _FUR_ on top of an iceberg, thank you very much. I wanted her to be comfortable!" Theo scoffed.

"Oh, and that's _so_ much better," Draco sneered at him.

Theo just rolled his eyes at his friend. "She was so _not_ complaining, I'll have you know."

"So much for perfect Pureblood manners," Draco muttered, snorting softly.

"Fffft," Theo said airily. "When in Rome— You really should try it. It's quite freeing."

"I am _not_ stripping down naked in front of Merlin and everyone to have rabid Niffler sex in the snow!" Draco yelled.

"Maybe the Nifflers are onto something," Theo supposed, shrugging. "You _did_ go down on Luna in the middle of Hyde Park in front of a bunch of partying Muggles."

"That was—" Draco sputtered. ""That was totally not the same!"

"Oh right, well, pardon me," Theo said, shaking his head in amusement.

"Look," Theo said after a while. "We both know that if you had really, _really_ wanted to get married, you'd have swept Luna off and done the deed instead of just shagging her all over London and never getting married. You wouldn't have let the migration season of Horny Bupperbacks or whatever get in your way. You'd have found a way, just like you always do, so somewhere deep inside of you, you must've figured that you either _knew_ it wasn't meant to be, or your heart was dragging you elsewhere. Otherwise you wouldn't have gone and bought yourself a sodding Shih Tzu pup and started talking to it like it was your own mother."

Draco sighed, staring up at the ceiling moodily. "Why didn't Hermione _say_ something?"

"It's not her job to police your love life, mate," Theo said dryly. "She probably saw all the possibilities, or she purposely tried _not_ to look out of respect for you. You know how she is, mate. Besides, I'm betting you your dreams have changed pretty drastically from what they were when you first got with Luna. Now can you tell me truthfully that whatever you've been dreaming of even _included_ Luna in some way, shape, or form?"

Draco closed his eyes in pain. "No."

"What _are_ you dreaming of anyway?"

"My mother being back and happy with me."

Theo sighed. "You've got some serious mummy issues to deal with there, mate. Just promise me that you'll take some time to figure it all out. But not your whole life, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," Draco agreed.

"Don't let life pass you by because you can't get your mum to be what you've always wanted her to be. Gods only know that if I had to rely on my father to approve of _ANYTHING_ I ever did— I'm sure he'd have a epic coronary after seeing me now. _Especially_ now."

"He always wanted you to have blue blood," Draco said with a chuckle.

"Probably not so much the blue skin and glowing red eyes with a propensity for growing thirty-odd feet tall," Theo replied, snickering at the mental image of his father's likely expression upon discovering his new 'look'.

"Don't forget the nigh-endless libido," Draco bemoaned, smashing his face repeatedly into the pile of pillows at the head of his bed.

"That's more of a benefit, mate," Theo said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"My godfather's getting so much more than _me_ ," Draco grunted rather grumpily.

Theo shook his head adamantly. "You have _no_ idea just how much help he's been. Not just to me, either. He's been helping Laufey train all of the young hunters and he's even set up a programme to help train young magicals if and when they start showing up. At Hogwarts, Severus was always so disgusted with everything, you know? Now, he's downright inspirational. He takes Raina with him absolutely everywhere, teaching her all sorts of new things. It's _amazing_. The way he cares for Ishea is something a lot of us wish _we_ could be like. He's found his true place in the world, Draco, and I've found mine too. I don't regret it. Not even one little tiny bit. "

"I guess I just wish that _**I**_ could feel that strongly about something," Draco mused thoughtfully.

"Hey, mate," Harry called as he burst through Draco's bedroom door. "We're going out for Muggle pizza, you coming?" Harry skidded to an abrupt halt as he spied Theo sitting on the edge of Draco's bed, traditional spear in hand, and glowing red eyes staring as if attempting to bore a hole right through him.

" _ **THEO?!"**_

"Hey there, mate," Theo grinned, raising a bright blue hand in greeting.

Thud.

Harry had fainted dead away onto the new hardwood floor.

Draco rolled his head to the side, smirking down at the unconscious former Gryffindor. "Well, at least I can say that _**I**_ didn't faint when I saw you."

"Only because you were already sitting down."

"Just shut it, you." Draco glared at Theo. "Remember, when I first saw you today, you had forgotten to shrink yourself down."

Theo grinned wickedly. "Forgotten. Yes. That must've been it."

Draco eyed Theo for a long moment. "I really hate you, sometimes."

Theo's crimson eyes glowed. "You _love_ me, mate. You know you do."

* * *

Sif looked over the ledge to watch Fandral, Volstagg, and Hogun sparring together at the base of the temple grounds as they enjoyed their newfound freedom from their cast-bound imprisonment. She, too, was glad to be free of the uncomfortable confines, but a part of her had been coping with multiple surprising revelations. One, her faith hadn't been buried quite as deeply as she thought it had, and two, the dynamics had changed drastically between the formerly-hated and feared Jötunn and certain members of her kind. It seemed that the Jötunn were no longer to be quite so feared and hated anymore.

And Sif had a secret.

As a child, she had once had a Jötunn playmate— a friendship forged while her parents had tended an outpost in Jötunheimr overlooking Útgarðr. While her parents had been distracted and busy looking out for danger from the front, Sif had been playing right under their noses with a young Jötunn male— so very young that that they had been about the same size.

They had been the very _best_ of friends, and he had even taught her how to properly build and wield a spear, to fish in the frozen river to ease her hunger when her parents were too busy to prepare her a meal, and how to cover herself in warm sealskin to protect herself from Jötunheimr's icy cold wrath. Ironically, her parents hadn't even noticed, so intent on keeping watch for the dangers they believed would come from the end of an icy spear direct to the face.

Sif and her Jötunn friend had grown up together, and she had never had even the slightest clue that he was fated to become her enemy one day. They had become so very close— nigh-inseparable, in fact. Then, one day, her parents took her back to Ásgarðr to be formally trained as a warrior. A proud defender of Ásgarðr.

She was taught to distrust _any_ thing Jötunn.

Jötunn would cause the coming of Ragnarök.

Jötunn would kill every single man, woman, and child of Ásgarðr, she was taught.

Sif had buried her personal feelings deep down inside of her, unable to believe that her friend could even be capable of such terrible things but equally unable to voice her true thoughts and opinions in the face of such open hatred. She focused all of her pain and inner conflict on battle training instead. She tempered her confusion with wrath. She molded herself into a warrior's warrior, and tried desperately to forget the part of her heart that still longed for her Jötunn friend. There was an aching, raw emptiness she longed to fill, yet no other had managed to come close to doing that for her. And the truth was she didn't even know if he still lived. She wanted to believe that he was happy somewhere— having survived the war and the harsh, unforgiving climate of Jötunheimr.

But an equally traitorous part of her wished that he felt much the same as she.

She hated herself for it. She had no _right_ to wish ill of someone else just because she felt so terribly lonely. Her friend had never done anything to deserve such malice— it had been why she had cared so powerfully for him, even growing up. And she still dreamed of him every night— older, perhaps, but yet still with the same unforgettable garnet eyes and the tender warmth of his hand on hers as he led her to the ice floes to watch the seals and whales.

It had all been all so very innocent then— but Sif could still remember the achingly sweet tenderness of his touch. Then, as she had grown older, it was _his_ touch alone that she secretly longed for, even as she entertained other men, brave Asgardian warriors all. But they were never quite right for her. No matter what society told her, her heart wanted what it wanted and would accept nothing else and nothing less: the deliciously forbidden… their enemy.

And Sif had buried it all just as deeply as she could, believing that there would never be a time in her future in which the forbidden would miraculously change and become _un_ forbidden.

And then, suddenly, it _had_.

It wasn't to say that she believed that Ásgarðr, too, would embrace the Jötunn so easily— but here, here in the very mecca of quetzalcoatl faith, peace was very _real_. Miðgarðr had succeeded in ways that Ásgarðr itself had only tentatively arranged.

"Beautiful day," Hermione said, seeming to appear out of nowhere as if springing out from the very earth.

Sif whirled, her instincts having been honed for battle readiness at all times. Then she realised that the other woman was regarding her with a warm, almost amused smile. "Old habits?"

Sif instantly deflated. "My apologies, Lady Hermione," Sif managed to say without squeaking.

"You needn't explain yourself to me, Lady Sif," Hermione said with a beam of radiant warmth. "I am sure the exceedingly strange things you have seen over the last few months have been giving you a rather difficult time."

"Please, just Sif," Sif requested. "Lady Sif makes me think of tight corsets, ballroom gowns, and being unable to lift a sword or mount a horse without courting epic disaster."

Hermione laughed, a bell-like, very feminine sound. "Sif it is then."

"I haven't yet had a chance to thank you," Sif said after a moment. "For sparing my life and then healing me. I know you didn't have to do either."

Hermione tilted her head, a soft hum moving in the back of ther throat as she rocked back and forth, in a serpentine manner. "All I did was calm down Jane, whose fury with one most righteous hammer did smash all of your bones."

Sif coughed delicately. "I can certainly appreciate that."

"To her credit, she was defending my children," Hermione said, "one of which Volstagg did tread upon with his boot."

Sif winced. "If anything, the months we spent entombed within a cast being tended by a Jötunn healer haven given us all some much-needed… perspective in several critical areas."

"Yet, you understood her the entire time," Hermione said, kind and non-accusing.

Sif fidgeted a bit under the gentle scrutiny. "When I was but a child, my parents tended a security outpost just outside Útgarðr. I spent a good few hundred years there out on the wastes of Jötunheimr, with no one else around for hours or days, save for Útgarðr itself. That was what my parents watched, day after day, hour after hour."

"But not you," Hermione commented.

Sif shook her head. "I amused myself most days— for years, and then one day, I met a boy fishing out in the frozen river. I had thought him cold, his skin was so very blue. I offered him my coat. He was so very fascinated by me. He'd never seen a person whose skin was so different from his own. I think we spent hours just poking at each other, trying to figure out if we were real or not."

"Sounds like you made a new friend."

Sif nodded. "We became the very best of friends. My mother and father never knew. They were far too busy looking forward to bother with checking up on me, to find out what I was up to. He taught me to fish, to use a spear, and how to use a knife. He made sealskin wraps for my feet to keep them dry and warm, laughing that I was so terribly fragile. If Asgardians only _knew_ how well-equipped Jötunn children are when compared to their _own_ children, they would be so terribly ashamed, I think. We think ourselves to be so very brilliant, so civilised and advanced, but throw us out into the wastes, and we will shiver, freeze and die, having not even enough time to lift up a sword."

"You _admire_ them," Hermione said, tilting her head to gaze at the warrior woman.

Sif thought about that for a moment. "I guess I do. It's funny, I remember so many nights when we'd be out there all alone on the ice floes, dragging some carcass up out of the ocean and then across the ice. He'd _always_ make sure I ate first. I used to think it was because he thought I'd waste away at a moment's notice." Sif flushed. "I only just realised, after witnessing more of Jötunn culture here at the temple, that he was doing his very best to take care of me."

"How does that make you feel now?" Hermione asked softly.

Sif closed her eyes. "It makes me wish we'd stayed out there a little longer. Were we but just a little bit older, things might have turned out differently. We were just two young kids then. He's… probably forgotten all about me, though."

"Dreams are things that can follow you throughout life, Lady Sif," Hermione said rather cryptically. "Shared ones are all the more rare and beautiful. Many say that our jungle falls are a very good place to gather your thoughts and think things through. Perhaps you might like to give it a try? The waters are perpetually warm in the springs and cold in the falls. Somewhere in the middle you can usually find the perfect temperature."

"I think I shall indeed, Lady Hermione," Sif said with an appreciative nod. "Thank you for the kind suggestion."

Hermione unwrapped what seemed like a skin of some sort from her waist. "Might as well take this with you. It can get a little cold if you stand in the wind just so."

Sif accepted the skin gratefully. "Thank you. It is… a little heavier than I expected."

Hermione was already walking away. She paused but a moment. "Must be all the natural waterproofing," she said with a smile. "Have a good walk." Hermione glided away, a long trail of cosmic plasma whipping about her heels.

Sif boggled at the warm hide she had just been given. It was a deep silver-blue and just as thick as one of the winter duvets at the Asgardian royal palace. And yet it was strangely light and the texture butter soft. She'd never seen the like of it before. To her mind, it was oddly heavier than it should have been, and yet it was somehow lighter than it could have been. Sif shook her head. There were so many new and strange things here on Miðgarðr.

Sif noticed that the steps leading up to the jungle falls were apparently well-loved or at least very well-tended. On either side was an equally well-tended air garden. Trees with lush, heart-shaped leaves, hostas, ivy, and some species of flowering plant that trailed a multitude of tiny, fragrant blossoms both shaded and subtly perfumed the rather secluded walkway. It was a bit of a long walk and yet Sif did not encounter anyone else along the way. For that, she was grateful. She found that she very much wanted to get things sorted within her own head without having to talk or deal with any others.

Finally reaching the top, Sif noticed that the path turned right and then slowly began to narrow. This part was lined in flat, perfectly smooth stones with just enough cushioning moss to make walking the pathway with bare feet a decadent, highly cathartic experience. She took off her sandals to better enjoy the journey, glad of Lady Hermione's suggestion that she make this trip to the falls in the first place. The temple grounds lay below, but the temple itself rose like a beacon above all. The highest dais floated above the temple itself— where Hermione and Loki always held an audience with supplicants and diplomatic visitors. Those who visited more frequently were allowed out on the temple grounds themselves and the more casual public areas, such as the gardens. In a floating ring around the temple were the hunting grounds, perfectly managed jungles teeming with prey such as Acromantulas for the hunters to satisfy their need to hunt and so they could always bring back fresh meat to their mates. Most of the prey items, as would be expected in the natural order, bred quickly, making them an easily renewable natural resource.

The ambassadorial residences floated out in a circle around the temple's grounds on multiple, individual climate-controlled islands. Swirling magical lights marked each one with different colours and even the seasons appeared to be different depending on which island she was looking at. Most of the embassies had the bridge withdrawn, except for when official visitors were being entertained, except for two: the bridge to the Jötunn's frosty portal remained bridged at all times and the bridge to the goblin nation's main embassy never faded.

Yet, save for these features, there were no other visible protections— at least, not in the way of the ever-vigilant Heimdall and the Asgardian royal guard. Sif was not that ignorant, however. Those who lived in and around the temple grounds served as the eyes and ears of their chosen god and goddess, being so much more protective and nigh-fanatical than any other group could possibly claim to be. It had taken but one wholly human woman wielding Mjölnir like a seasoned warrior to take out an entire raiding party of Asgardians. Sif had no doubt whatsoever that if there was ever any danger around, it would not last long enough to get to Hermione or Loki, not unless Hermione or Loki actually _wanted_ it to.

The steps finally led her out into an enclosed garden where dainty bushes mingled with wispy, almost-delicate trees. Crystal clean water flowed out around a circular platform, and blooming pond lilies in various colours floated serenely on top. In the center, there was a fountain, separate from the rest, and it didn't take her long to recognise the bright red bellies of the infamous Pira that Lady Frigga adored so very much— fish that stripped the meat off bones but then burped their thanks in a startlingly angelic musical harmony.

A small plaque with a hand reaching into the pond and a line through it warned visitors not to stick their hands in the Pira fountain. Sif wondered how long it would take some heedless idiot to try it anyway and end up getting his hand gnawed off.

The far gate opened up into a wider path, and that led right into the pool at the bottom of an enormous roaring waterfall. Great curving tusks from some unknown species of enormous animal served as railings, smooth and warm to the touch despite being parted from the host animal. Intricate runes shimmered along the surface indicating no small amount of respect for the animal that had given them up along with its life.

Sif found her way down to where the stairs dipped down into a warmed bathing pool, and she took off her more cumbersome armor and set it carefully aside. As she laid down the strange hide that Hermione had given her, a small drawstring bag fell out. Curious, she opened it, reaching her hand in, and she found two bathing suits. One was rather modest, and the other— well, it looked almost like a bikini take on her usual armor.

Seeing as she was alone, she decided to slip into the less modest suit, and into the water, sighing with pure relief as the warm water eased away all of the lingering aches in her muscles. The great falls roared down from above, secluding the lower falls in a thick cloud of mist. There was a soft, gentle breeze, just as Hermione had warned, but Sif found that if she stayed in the water, it didn't bother her at all.

One of her pendants floated up to the surface of the water and bonked her on the chin. She picked it in her hand, staring down at it. Runes covered the pristine ivory and bone of a large feline. It was wrapped tightly in sinew, covering the runes themselves, but she could _feel_ them as much as see them— their magic having been set into the ivory and bone so very long ago.

* * *

" _Run, Sif!" Björnar yelled, pushing Sif away as a huge, sabre-toothed frost beast snarled down at them from above._

_But Sif couldn't run. Her leg was pinned under the fallen glacial ice, loosed during her wild tumble down the glacier._

_The sabre-toothed beast roared, leaping down from an outcrop several feet above the two children, seeming to know that it had all the advantage and none of the disadvantages of its would-be prey._

_Björnar quickly yanked his spear out from the nearby ice, immediately throwing himself between the beast and a trapped Sif. He gave a mighty roar, which might have been truly intimidating coming from a full-grown giant, but he was just a young boy._

_The creature snarled again, leaping at them, its enormous fangs bared menacingly and its dagger-like claws fully extended. Björnar fell heavily onto his knees, bracing his body against the spear._ " _ **You will NOT have her!"**_

_**CRUNCH.** _

_Björnar staggered and fell under the sheer weight of the beast. The creature roared and writhed, half-impaled on a broken spear— but the spear had gone through the beast's ribs and through to the other side. Björnar's arm wrapped around the beast's neck in a headlock. The beast bucked, snarled, and slashed out viciously with its claws, but the boy-giant wrapped his legs as tightly as he could around the beast's chest and wrenched its neck inexorably backward._

_Crr-_

_Crrr-_

_**CRACK!** _

_The beast spasmed as the incandescent fury in its eyes faded away, its body going boneless and utterly limp._

" _ **RrrrraaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhH!"**_ _Björnar roared, beating his chest, his crimson eyes glowing with primal fury. He took his broken spear and thrust it deep into the animal's carcass, towards the heart, insuring that the creature would never gain a second wind and another chance to fight. He shakily got to his feet, panting, blood trailing down the slash of its claws across his chest and back, marring his previously flawless blue skin._

_He knelt down beside her, pushing up the remains of the glacier with a heave of his already brawny shoulder, using his own body weight to wedge it up. "Can you move now?" he panted, blood still trailing down his exhausted body._

_Sif just nodded dumbly, wincing as she pulled her wounded leg out from under the glacial ice. As she freed herself, Björnar let the weight drop, resting on all fours as he fought to catch his breath. Even as he struggled, he dragged himself over to the carcass, dipping his fingers into the steaming blood. He drew it carefully across his face, tracing the lines of his runic patterns. He looked to where Sif's small dagger had been embedded into the beast's tough hide, broken off at the hilt. He pulled her hand towards the carcass, dipping her fingers into the blood. He gestured to her face meaningfully, pantomiming someone drawing._

_Sif slowly drew a pattern onto herself, and having no pattern with which to do so, mirrored Björnar's, slowly drawing her bloodied fingers across her own skin._

_Björnar smiled, wordlessly, nodding in clear approval. He pried open the beast's mouth, jabbing his dagger into the socket of its jaw and maneuvered his hands around until he heard a sharp_ crack _. He repeated it until the two pristine ivory fangs glistened in front of him. Using the beast's own claws, he drew one paw along the leg and found the sinew, freeing it from the long bone. He chewed on it as he worked on the twin teeth, carefully carving into them with a tool from his belt until an intricate series of runes covered the surface of both ivory and bone. He wrapped the bone shaft of the saber with the moistened sinew until it was covered in a glistening golden wrap. He sliced down the belly of the beast with one of its claws, cutting fine strips of rawhide, and then he braided them finely, using his teeth to pull it tight as he worked the cord._

" _Great Frost Mother," Björnar whispered to the carcass. "This is my first great kill, if not by my own choice. If this was the test you chose for me, will you please find us worthy of your divine blessing? All I ask is but these two ivory fangs, and two claws to replace our broken knives and the sinew and skin in which to bind them. All else, Great Frost Mother, I present to you in payment for our lives and my first-ever great hunt."_

_Björnar cracked the bones, releasing two claws from the beast by breaking the bones free of the tendons and flesh. Two pristine claws, still attached to the bone, were quickly formed into two perfect knives._

_He tossed one of the tooth-pendants around Sif's neck, thrusting one knife-claw into her hand. The other he put around his own neck, and he placed the second knife into the empty sheath at his belt. The ice was cracking, and they had to move quickly. When he saw that Sif was still limping, he pulled her tightly to him, wedging himself under her shoulder and wrapping his arm around her slim waist to support her weight. They walked together as the ice cracked ominously underneath them, struggling to get to the greater safety of the shoreline as swiftly as possible. Just as their feet finally hit the rocky shore, the ice floe gave way as the huge body of the great sea-wolf whale opened its jaws and snapped around the body of the saber-toothed beast, dragging it under the ice into the ocean below._

_Sif's eyes were wide with amazement and terror as she watched death from below swallow up where they had been standing only moments before— themselves only a few feet away. The great swath of broken ice and ocean water served as a testament to the sheer size of the great ice-whale that had dragged the sabre-toothed beast's carcass off to its final resting place._

" _Today, we are both hunters," Björnar panted, brushing her long dark hair away from her face. "In the eyes of the Great Frost Mother, there will never be anyone but you. One day, I will prove this to you. This I swear."_

* * *

Sif grasped the ivory tooth in her fist, feeling a sudden overwhelming tightness within her chest.

It had been but a mere childhood promise— a promise made by a child only a few hundred years old. Björnar had been just a young boy, not even half-grown, swearing his vow upon the carcass of the beast that had tried its damndest to kill them both.

There was no reason for her to think that a childhood promise, even one sworn over a miraculous feat borne out of avoiding a messy death, if only by the very skin of their teeth, could still apply _now_. She just hoped, wished— if her friend, Björnar, was still alive out there somewhere and living a happy life, could she _please_ just get on with her life and stop pining away after a lost childhood crush and a bunch of sad, wistful, what-ifs?

Please?

Pretty please? With a spear on top?

Sif sighed and pulled the soft hide a little more snugly around herself as she stood up, deciding to stretch her legs a little and maybe get a closer look at the falls. The cool mist got thicker and thicker as she walked on, but the path remained warm and comfortable beneath her feet. The scent was earthy and moist— so very fresh and _alive_. While Ásgarðr certainly had its share of beautiful, manicured gardens, they had never felt this intensely alive, as if the very breath was moving in and out like that of some great, exotic beast.

It was almost enough to believe that the land masses were indeed set atop a great sea turtle swimming across a vast, primordial ocean.

As she walked past a rushing curtain of pure, clean water, she could just make out a massive, muscular wall of deep blue skin, criss-crossed by a series of intricate runic markings.

Jötunn.

Her breath hitched and caught in her throat as she noticed the jagged lines of claw marks marring the deep, runic markings— a series of distinct, unmistakable scars that were surely made by a _very_ close encounter with the vicious claws of a great sabre-toothed frost beast. They cut jagged lines across his trapezius, down his posterior deltoid, and down his latissimus dorsi, making a moon-like swath that tore all the way down from his brawny shoulders to his muscular, well-defined arse.

" _Run, Sif!"_

Sif's voice choked and caught in her throat.

It _couldn't_ be.

Sif eyed those oh-so-familiar scars…

" _You're bleeding."_

" _I'll be fine._ "

" _Those don't_ look _fine!"_

" _Just help me put some of the ice-moss on it, and I'll heal. I promise."_

_Sif slowly put her hand into the tub of ointment-soaked moss, and gently pressed it to his wounded back. He hissed softly as she bandaged his back and chest to keep the healing moss in place. Her fingers gently traced the markings on his uninjured side, then she lay her head down on his shoulder. "I'm so glad you're alright."_

" _You are alive," Björnar said softly, placing his already large hand on her much smaller one. "I will always be alright whenever this is so."_

Sif made a strangled, choking sound, staggering backward to lean heavily against against the cool stone, and the male Jötunn quickly turned around to face her. He held nothing in his hands save for a small bathing sponge, and he wore not a stitch save for a single sabre-fang hanging around his neck.

Sif's very wide eyes slowly came to meet his.

His striking garnet eyes slowly came to focus, not upon her face, but on the single fang hanging around her own neck.

Slowly, he looked her in the eyes. "Sif?"

"Björnar?" her trembling voice cracked.

He was at her side in but a moment, his strong arms wrapping around her with his achingly familiar warmth. Sif trembled against him, the strength of her emotions all but tearing her to pieces as she suddenly realised that he was _very_ real, very much alive, and so painfully close.

"My Sif," he whispered into her long, dark hair. His hands pressed against her now-wet cheeks. "I have dreamt of you for so very long. Ever since you disappeared. Ever since you no longer met me out on the ice floes."

Sif winced. "My parents took me back to Ásgarðr. Their duty was finally done, and I was to be trained as a warrior."

The Jötunn's eyes quickly flicked away. "To defend Ásgarðr against the likes of… me?"

Sif closed her eyes in obvious pain. "Yes."

"Yet you still kept my token?" he whispered, his finger lightly tapping against the ivory sabre-fang dangling just above her breast.

"Over my heart for a thousand years now," Sif replied softly. "Kept carefully hidden, but always close to me."

"Do you ever dream of me?" he asked quietly, his garnet eyes glowing softly in the dim gloom of the waterfall.

"Far more often than is healthy," Sif admitted, flushing deeply. "I imagined you living a happy life somewhere. Hunting out on the floes. A mighty hunter with a proud wife and many sabre-toothed beast-hunting sons."

"How could I?" Björnar replied, a somewhat puzzled frown upon his face, "When the only mate I ever desired, the only woman I wished to carry my sons, was you? Even as a boy, I _knew_ this. Long before I could ever hope to prove it to you."

Sif was silent for a long moment, utterly perplexed. "How could you _possibly_ have known? We were but two very young children back then."

"The Great Frost Mother tested us together," Björnar explained. "She marked us together that night. Wounded us together. She bound us together, first in friendship, then in pain. There could never be any other for me but you. Perhaps, in Ásgarðr, such things are different, but for Jötunn there is only ever one who can fill our very bones with fire and ice. Once that initial bond is made, there can never be another for us. Not after a promise made over one's first great kill. Perhaps, had it been made over a mere ice-fish, it might have been different, but the Great Frost Mother sent us a sabre-toothed beast."

Sif's hands lay upon Björnar's broad chest, lightly tracing circles over his deep blue skin. "Have you truly thought of no one but me in all this time?"

Björnar's eyes fluttered shut in unmistakable pleasure as her tender touch upon his skin more than affected him. His breaths came ever faster and heavier as she continued to caress him. "My Sif, if you would but allow me to lie with you, I would prove that to no one else I would I _ever_ bring my hunt. Would you but love me in return?"

As Sif gently traced the intricate runes that decorated his skin, her eyelids began to flutter too as a shivery tingle of the most exquisite pleasure traveled up her fingers, danced across her spine, and flew directly to her brain. "What _is_ this feeling?"

Björnar cupped her cheek in his palm. "That is our fledgling bond, as of yet unsealed. You may… reject me, as is your right. I would never even dream of trying to force this upon you. I would never wish it upon you if you did not truly want it. Want… me."

"What would happen if I should… reject you?" Sif asked, her dark eyes very solemn.

Björnar closed his eyes for a long moment, tightening his ragged and fraying control of his emotions. "We would part. You would then be free to choose another."

"And you?"

Björnar gave her a tight, almost forced smile. "I would long mourn what could have been."

Sif's expression twisted in near-agony. "I would never, _ever_ wish to cause you pain," she said softly. "The thought of you walking away, even for a single, solitary moment pains me. I have _ached_ for you for so very long, though I knew not why."

"We were both blooded by the same great kill, Sif," Björnar whispered. "I swore under the eye of the Great Frost Mother that there would never be anyone _but_ you for me. Will you agree to share my life with me, my hunts, our children? Be with me until the Great Frost Mother swallows all?"

Sif's fingers traced the strong lines of Björnar's face, trembling with the strength of her own desire. "Yes. _Yes!_ Oh gods, _**YES!**_ "

Björnar wrapped his arms around her waist and swiftly undid the hide she had wrapped around herself. "You even brought us the frost-seal skin," he purred laying it down on the stone as he gently lay Sif down on it.

" _Whaa?"_ Sif mumbled, near-incoherent with lust.

"It is a good thing. I do not plan on letting you leave this place until you are most joyously carrying our first child."

Sif attempted to comprehend his words, failed, tried again, then muttered something about sneaky feathered snakes.

"I shall offer up my prayers with your screams, my love," Björnar rumbled into her ear, his mouth then descending upon hers as his tongue soon stole away her ability to think. His hands deftly relieved her of her offensive bathing suit, and the moment his large hands caressed the plump flesh of her breasts, she let out a loud groan of pure, unfettered lust. She breathed heavily, arching her body against him as her hands clawed down his back, dragging her fingertips across his markings, scars, and skin in no particular order.

Björnar's body seemed to freeze for a moment and then he growled possessively, his teeth fastening upon the skin of her neck as he ran the length of his muscular body against hers, his readiness more than eager and willing to serve, but he captured one of her breasts in his mouth instead, lightly flicking the nipple with his tongue.

Sif moaned loudly, her arms flailing out, then pulling him tightly against herself as she gasped and whimpered in pleasure. With every breathy little moan and cry of ecstasy, a trail of blue began to inexorably spread and undulate across her pale, golden skin. Björnar groaned, one hand fumbling around for something he couldn't quite think clearly enough to actually _find_.

Suddenly, an egg-shard pendant dropped around Sif's neck from somewhere above. Laufey's amused expression was accented by the smooth slide of the traditional bonding ice-paint as he traced it over Björnar and Sif's growing, spreading markings.

"I, Laufey, witness your union," Laufey said smugly, knowing that Sif and Björnar were in no condition to think coherently at the moment. "May the ice sing your children to sleep, that they may never know loneliness."

Minerva set down a large hamper of rations that was full to bursting. "I, Minerva, witness your union. May the frosts favour your eternally, blessing your family with its gentle kiss."

"I, Ishea, witness your union," Ishea said with a soft chuckle. "May the winter's chill temper your emotions so that the heat of anger can never melt the bonds of love that you share."

Just as she managed to get the last of the formal words out, Björnar could take it no longer, and he buried himself into his chosen mate with all due haste, madly thrusting as Sif's moans grew louder and louder until his low, deep groan accompanied her full-blown shriek of ecstasy, both echoing throughout the ever-tumbling falls.

The markings spread from Björnar to Sif in a golden patchwork of energy and magic, imprinting themselves upon Sif's skin in a perfect reflection of his own. Her skin was swallowed in a wash of blue as her eyes filled in completely with a cherry red radiance. Björnar pulled his mate close with a possessive growl, refusing to let their most intimate contact wane until his mate was well and truly impregnated, to seal their glorious consummation for _life_.

Laufey and Minerva exchanged significant glances as he threw a soft sealskin blanket over the two of them. "You have been left enough rations for an entire moon cycle. _Do_ remember to feed yourselves occasionally. It would be a great shame to lose two such fine Jötunn after all that you survived in order to get to this point."

The three elders walked away, leaving the two new, joyously reunited lovers to make up for one horrendous thousand-year dry spell.

Vidar flew down and conjured a few soft and fluffy pillows, gently nosing them under the lovers' heads before flying back up to wrap himself snugly around Minerva's neck. Minerva smiled warmly, stroking his mane of soft feathers with great affection.

"Grandma Minerva?"

"Yes, love?"

"Do you think Lady Sif believes in us _now_?"

Minerva just laughed. "My dear, I think she believes in a great many things that she didn't just a few short hours ago."

Vidar beamed happily. "Her faith tastes just like fresh blueberries."

Minerva hugged the young serpentlet. "I have a feeling she will prove to have far more faith than most when she finally walks out from that waterfall."

Vidar radiated luminous moonbeams. "Who do you think will become Jötunn next, Grandma?"

Laufey leaned in to nuzzle Minerva's neck. "Hrm, just what are you up to, my lovely mate?"

Minerva cocked her head to the side. "Just thinking on who I should next invite over for tea, my darling husband-king."

Laufey snorted softly. "I'll make sure we have plenty of bonding ice-paint."

Minerva gave him a knowing, utterly feline smile.

* * *

" _ **Oi! Thor!"**_ Fandral yell-grunted. "Have you seen Sif around?"

"Not recently," Thor said as he eyed Mjölnir thoughtfully. The hammer was entirely covered in tentacula seedlings and baby booklets again, and he was starting to think that Mjölnir actually preferred it that way. Even more strangely, the venomous tentacula seedlings were actually pretty friendly, thanks to Mjölnir's and the booklet's influences. Well, as long as Draco or Harry weren't around. The moment either male wizard came by, the seedlings would immediately latch onto their face or arse (whichever was closer) and either bite their noses or bury their stingers into their far fleshier arses.

Severus had openly speculated that had Draco or Harry been another venomous tentacula, that would have been the ultimate sign of affection. Draco and Harry, of course, didn't agree with that at _all_. Having to carry around the antidote at all times severely cramped their style. Severus, of course, just raised a brow and told them, "Motherhood does have its burdens, you two might as well just suck it up and deal."

Alas, neither wizard was feeling especially motherly, despite having had given "birth" to a few tentaculas, so Mjölnir and the baby booklets were stepping up to fill in. There was a furious bout of squeaking as the booklets carried Mjölnir back into the sunbeam. The hammer teetered and wobbled, but tamely allowed itself to be moved out into the sun. Mjölnir landed with a solid thunk, and the venomous tentacula seedlings redistributed themselves in the sun with all of the booklets hiding under their collective shade.

All-Father would be absolutely beside himself knowing that a bunch of animated, sentient baby books were being permitted to carry and move Mjölnir wherever they so chose. Which part would boggle All-Father the most was debatable: sentient books, moving Mjölnir, or babysitting hammers.

Thor found it equally boggling that while Mjölnir was completely okay with babysitting booklets and seedlings and even serpentlets, the hammer seemed to completely ignore Thor's own children, showing no more interest than what one would expect of a weapon: just sitting there and doing nothing.

Thankfully, his children spent most of their time either eating or sleeping, and for that he was truly grateful, as Jane seemed exceedingly tired all the time— not so much in a worrying way, but Lady Ishea said that it would take a bit of time for Jane's body to get accustomed to all the new adjustments, between the aftermath of pregnancy and certain other changes due to her newly-expanded lifespan. Unlike a Jötunn conversion, Jane's body had to get used to things with the body that she had, and that was a lot to ask of a human body that wasn't even attuned to magic the way all magical folk were.

His lady mother had said that Asgardian children tended to sleep away a large part of their infancy, which was a grand blessing, she said. By the time the infants started showing interest in anything beyond food and sleep, the parents were a little more prepared— something that having an extra long childhood and lifespan gifted hand in hand.

Lady Jane, however, would be there to experience it _all_.

It gave Thor no small measure of peace in knowing his Jane would not quickly fade into nothingness simply because she had been born a mortal human— leaving himself and their children to go on without her. Considering that the typical Asgardian childhood lasted for hundreds of years, he could only imagine the trauma it would have caused her to know she'd never live long enough to see her babies grow up.

Fandral sat down next to Thor with a heavy sigh. "What are we going to do, Thor? I once thought that I couldn't wait to go back to Ásgarðr, but now I feel as though there is so much we are accomplishing _now_."

Thor nodded, silently. Thanks to his brother, there was total peace between Jötunheimr and Miðgarðr, and while the Jötunn had no desire whatsoever to take over Miðgarðr to endure the entirely-too-hot-for-them climate, they had even less reason to do so now that peace had led to a quite a surprising number of matings. The Jötunn had never before seen such a network of great and wondrous things occurring all at once. The only thing one need do was look out upon the gardens— seeing Jötunn couples happily mingling with members of the other diplomatic groups— to see that the Jötunn had even _less_ reason to cause problems now. It hadn't simply been magical humans finding love among the unmated Jötunn. While Thor had lost track of all the names, there had been quite a few "elder rushes" to witness various new consummations all over the temple grounds. Thor, at least privately, was most thankful that his Jane had no eyes for anyone but himself, lest he feel somewhat intimidated by the idea that she might run off and find some strapping young Jötunn hunter to affix herself to.

Insecure? Nah, not him.

Well… maybe a _little_.

Rumour had it that people were starting to call their temple the 'Temple of Hearts', where the faithful could come and be pointed in the direction of their true mates. Hermione and Loki scoffed at that idea, claiming that the heart always made its own decisions. They both swore that they themselves had absolutely nothing to do with it.

Thor _did_ have to admit that there were a lot of rather surprising pairing-offs going on around him, himself included, but no one seemed to be complaining in the slightest. The only ones doing the complaining were those who didn't seem to _know_ what it is that they really wanted, but that was an age-old timeless problem for every species everywhere.

The Jötunn were not the only ones coming together in the peace of the gardens. Centaurs mingled with non-centaurs, goblin goblets , foals, and children (human and non) all played together in the gardens. There were occasional arguments just as with any random group of people, but they were not unsurmountable. Disagreements were settled quickly and life went on. Thor couldn't help but think that if Ásgarðr had promoted such things, there would not be such an enormous gap between Ásgarðr and the other Nine Realms. Then again, when you proclaimed yourself to be a _god_ , it was hard to maintain the image when you seemed to be "just like everyone else."

Yet, again, his brother and his mate— divine quetzalcoatls both—did not proclaim themselves to be better than _any_ one, yet there was no mistaking their tremendous power and influence. They asked for nothing, yet got the entire world and unshakable faith to boot. What lessons might lie within _that?_

The Warriors Three had set up a camp for training on the temple grounds, exchanging sharpened blades for wooden mock-blades and staves. They sparred often, as usual, but they also had begun to teach, even encouraging the goblets, foals, and human children to learn basic weapon care and handling as well as mutual respect for their various sparring partners.

The Jötunn had set up a hunting camp on the fringes of the temple's plentiful game preserve, and the Warriors Three had flipped roles to become eager students of Jötunn hunting methods, learning just like any other young, would-be hunter— first how to make the weapons they would need and then how to wield them effectively. Slowly, little by little, the old, ingrained prejudices were starting to break down, and the young Warriors Three had already begun to realise that most of the tales that had been told them of the evil, bloodthirsty Jötunn were just that: highly embellished tall tales of war and boastful Asgardian victory.

Not _all_ diplomacy was going so well, however. Someone had gotten it into their pointed head to send a few Miðgarðr giants in to parlay with the quetzalcoatls, and they had then managed to insult every single person they ran into, or, rather, smashed into. The giants had all been of the opinion that they _deserved_ to have land set aside for them, as rumours had come to them that if they came to the flying snake temple, they would get their own (much larger) slice of the pie. Their leader, a singularly atrocious giant by the name of Golgomath, killed the original Gurg Karkus right there on the temple grounds, crowing that they deserved to fight for the right to have their own land. He then cracked the spine of a visiting centaur over his knee and sent a number of goblin warriors flying over the floating island, the lot of them saved only by the swift and speedy flight of seven very brave serpentlets.

However, what Golgomath had _not_ had neither the knowledge nor foresight to see, was that the "puny blue people" were not precisely what they appeared to be. The moment Golgomath's club came crashing down, Laufey was suddenly _there_ , his now full-sized hand gripping the end of the club even as he grasped the eggshell pendant around his neck— and dispelled the enchantment that restrained his size.

Laufey's enchanted club, frost runes blazing in the sun, swirled around him, suddenly turning the air frigid as frost came to his call as the sun came to Hermione and the moon to Loki. He roared his rage at Golgomath, his red eyes on fire with anger and protective fury.

As his body now towered over thirty feet tall, he was joined by several other equally tall and powerfully built Jötunn warriors, runic spears brandished as they beat their chest in a show of solidarity to their king.

"I am Laufey. King of Jötunnheimr. You, Golgomath, dare to bring your violence to a place of peace," Laufey growled, his garnet eyes flashing with unmistakable ire. "This, I will not abide. This, I will not stand for. You _will_ leave here. Now, or I shall proceed to demonstrate to you _exactly_ how I remain king."

Golgomath, who stood at his own species' grand and powerful twenty-five feet, now found himself surrounded by a crowd of fierce-looking Jötunn males who only averaged on the short end at thirty-odd feet. But, unfortunately, Golgomath, like the others of his kind, was not known for even an average level of intelligence; if had he even understood a lick of what Laufey had said, that remained wholly uncertain. His grip on his club tightened, and he roared, driving his people forward to attack.

Thor had to privately admit, he hadn't even had time to pick up Mjölnir in an attempt to help before it was all over. And if the bloodied, beaten, and distinctly flattened body of the Midgardian giants hadn't been quite enough, an absolutely _furious_ Lady Minerva had then transfigured them all into Acromantulas—

Tasty, tasty Acromantulas.

Surrounded by a crowd of hungry Jötunn hunters, infuriated goblins, and a herd of vengeful centaurs.

The hunting party was _still_ going strong in the jungle preserve—

Severus had made an absolutely spectacular chilli-lime dipping sauce, one so zesty and delicious that even Jane soon found herself munching her way through a pile of choice legs.

The carcass of the formerly-Golgomath Acromantula was gifted to the centaur herd along with the previously-injured stallion (healed without so much as a scar via Quetzalcoatl faith power), and as it turned out, the centaurs thought Acromantula legs tasted an awful lot like delicious victory.

As for who had stirred up the giants to come knocking on their door in the first place, and just _how_ they had managed to get as far as they did, that mystery was left for another day— after all the "evidence" had been gleefully consumed in a grand celebratory feast.

Perhaps, that show of protective, even righteous fury had been the start of true peace between the Jötunn and those such as the Warriors Three. Talk was just a bunch of words. Stories could be altered. Shows of tempering backed by strength, now that was the heart and soul of the Warriors Three. They understood protection. They understood fighting for what one believed in, and for the first time, perhaps, they realised that they were not so different from those around them.

That lessoned learned, the Warriors Three were really having a hard time coming to terms with the thought of going back to Ásgarðr. What this strange and beautiful place had was well worth fighting for. Here and now rather than in some intangible, far-off future. The next generation was already beginning, and they all had the ability to become a part of it.

Thor, however, was truly dreading his own eventual return to Ásgarðr, mostly because it would surely mean a confrontation with his father about his "inappropriate" choice in life-mate. Then again, perhaps Odin couldn't _quite_ disapprove of Jane as much as he might have done months ago. Since then, Jane had wielded Mjölnir (while pregnant, no less) and soundly beaten the ever-living daylights out of the Warriors Three with the kind of skill that even Thor himself marvelled at. Jane was no longer bound to a mere handful of days in comparison to Thor either.

And all because of a handful of very generous serpentlets had the guile to not only steal one of the apples of Idunn but steal the entire _tree_. Poor Idunn was probably convinced that the storm giants had gone and nicked her tree again. The little miscreants hadn't simply relocated the tree either. They had gone and had the entire tree and the fruit upon it blessed by their quetzalcoatl parents. Whatever the fruit had been before, it was certainly more now. Just _how_ much more, Thor couldn't really say, but knowing his brother, well, things were far more likely to be interesting than boring.

Fandral hadn't given up on his earlier question and proceeded to elbow Thor in the ribs. "Don't leave me hanging, Thor. Where _is_ Sif, anyway?"

"I couldn't even begin to guess," Thor said with a pained grunt. "I am not the boss of her."

"Surely you must know _some_ thing, unlike Volstagg who is pining away for his wife's hearty meals," Fandral complained. "If it weren't for his wife, he'd want to stay here forever. In fact, I think he's wondering if she might be willing to move, if there was a place to be had for them here."

"I do not think All-Father would all that excited about allowing the lot of you to simply move to Miðgarðr."

Fandral shook his head. "It's not like he ever really cared what we did or didn't do before. Hogun lived here for an entire human lifetime, once upon a time and he even had a wife—" Then he frowned. "Hogun doesn't like to talk about it much."

"Age?"

"Aye. Stole her away in but the blink of an eye for our kind."

Thor nodded, understanding completely. "On one hand it is worth the time you _do_ have. On the other—"

"You still lose them far too soon."

"Aye," Thor sighed. "It makes you think that the Jötunn have the right way of doing things. What better way to ensure your mate remains with you for just as long as you live?"

Fandral nodded. "I never thought I'd ever be the one to say this, but— I find I truly envy them. Once they find the one, they just _know_ , and the indisputable proof is in the change. No pining over a shorter lifespan. No worry that their union might never be blessed with children— Hell, no worries that they can even— well, you know."

Thor snorted. "Mere semantics."

Fandral chuckled. "Yes."

Loki and Hermione then made an appearance in the garden, both sporting the more casual, Jötunn style of "clothing" that left _very_ little to the imagination. A delicate ice-crown adorned her forehead, and a light, fluffy stole of fur graced her slender shoulders, but only a long, wispy, trailing sort of loincloth covered her from the waist down and a small, organic, twist of opaque ice encircled her full breasts. The outfit, or the lack thereof, only accented her beautifully intricate markings— the mirror image of Loki's own, leaving no doubt whatsoever as to who _her_ mate was. If her markings weren't enough, however, their matching manes of feathers and almost fur-like locks of hair framed their heads, and the spread of smooth scales moving down their collective backs all did the rest.

While Hermione did not sport the glowing crimson eyes and dark cobalt skin that Loki did, there was no doubt at all that she, too, had undergone a mutual change with him as his chosen mate. No Jötunn alive doubted their complete faithfulness to each other, nor did they doubt that Loki was Jötunn even as they were both much more than just simply Jötunn.

Like most Jötunn females, Hermione wore the traditional sealskin stole about her waist or over her shoulder, and Thor was only starting to crack the surface of what that particular tradition had been rooted in. It was about more than just fashion, as Thor had come to realise. It was also more than just a fine waterproof blanket, or a way to show off her mate's hunting prowess— but Thor couldn't quite put his finger on _exactly_ what it was all about.

The centaur foals had teamed up with the goblets to make what appeared to be a multitude of intricately woven food hampers, most carefully depicting the seven serpentlets in Mayan and Aztec Motif. The serpentlets twirled and spun about to express their gratitude, flattered, as always, to be included in anything. Each serpentlet then seemed to concentrate really, really hard.

**Pop!**

One soft, delicate feather floated down into the hands of each of the foals and goblets. They clung to their feathers tightly and happily scurried off to show their parents what they had won through their own hard work and dedication.

The serpentlets cavorted playfully around their parents, occasionally darting off to find and fetch something back. Some of them were interesting, some were _wriggling_ , and some downright obscure, yet Loki and Hermione didn't seem bothered by it at all. Most days, the serpentlets were remarkably well-behaved, but there were times when their curiosity overruled all sense and rationality, and they brought back things that had either Aurors coming to deal with it or some random paramilitary group called S.H.I.E.L.D. that Thor had never even heard of.

At one point they had somehow found and brought back the egg of a highly-endangered thunderbird, thinking that all it needed was a little time on top of the pyramid to hatch out like they did, and the DRCMC had to come out and take it back to the well-protected nest on the other side of the world from whence it came. Hermione then had to remind her children that no, you couldn't have salt water crocodiles as pets because they got bigger and liked to eat people, animals, and anything _else_ that got a little too close, that resurrecting ancient fossils disrupted the natural order of things, and no matter how cute that baby Pterosaur was, it _wasn't_ a good idea to have it flying around and terrorising downtown Tokyo. Godzilla wasn't supposed to be real, King Kong was pure fantasy, and the moths gathering around the light at night were not going to mutate into Mothra. (At least not without a little help from their father, but Hermione kept that particular thought entirely to herself, not really wishing to tempt fate _that_ much.)

Hermione had a very long talk with Harry, Draco, and Sirius after all that, involving television, movies, and instilling a sense of reality into curious and talented little serpentlets. Her point, however, was more than made when a megalodon _some_ how turned up in Sirius' own bathtub while he was entertaining a new lady friend, resulting in the poor witch being admitted to Mungo's for extensive therapy as well the removal of an enormous tooth or two from her shapely arse.

Sirius, perhaps, belatedly realised that he had to be much more careful whenever seven curious serpentlets came 'round to watch him "entertain" one of his lady friends… as well as give him blunt commentary and ask whether he was going to "do that thing with his tongue again that made the other lady scream." His newest lady friend, upon seeing the baby serpentlets, promptly had a nervous breakdown, started screaming about the end of the world, and started chanting a call to Cthulhu.

The serpentlets, of course, immediately went to mum and dad and asked who this Cthulhu was, and Sirius was, again, pulled to the side and reminded to be far more careful when giving open invitations to visit to the serpentlets, who would quite literally take him at his word. Explicit rules were then set for them: no visiting Mr Black unless specifically invited that day/time and having the particulars cross-approved by family. The serpentlets learned quickly that the response from Grandpa Severus in regards to any inquiry involving Sirius Black was an unequivocal, resounding " _ **NO!"**_ each and every time.

They also learned that they didn't even actually have to _ask_ for him to come swooping in from somewhere to say " _ **NO!"**_ before heading off again to take care of something else.

Thor had to admit that he was amused by watching the serpentlets learn boundaries and rules, especially with one parent such as his brother, who liked to defy any and all rules purely as a matter of principle. However, much as Lady Hermione worked to temper the mischief of her mate, she also tempered that of her children, turning their mischief into something healthy rather than malicious, even if the occasional maliciousness happened to be purely accidental. Thor had no doubt at all that the serpentlets were the very furthest thing from malicious pranksters as one could possibly get. If they _did_ hurt someone emotionally, it was always entirely unintentional. Thor was just glad that he had a few years ahead of blissful little babies eating and sleeping as the daily norm. Hopefully, by the time his children were ready to hit what his Jane liked to call "the terrible twos", Jane would be fully adjusted to her new lifespan and thus able to grab her extended life by both horns and take it all in her stride.

Not that he didn't plan on being there every step of the way, regardless. He simply wanted the best for his Jane and his sons. He wanted his family to be happy.

There was a slight rustle along the path into the garden, and a number of people looked up to see who was coming in. The gathered Jötunn let out a loud, grunting cheer, thumping their feet on the ground in apparent salute to someone or some _thing_ that had yet to step fully out to where Thor could see them. As one of the Jötunn hunters emerged, a beautiful female at his side, he had a strange moment thinking that the female was Sif, but he shook his head, dismissing it as a mere trick of the light.

The hunter was Björnar, that Thor knew. He was one of the very best and most successful hunters that Laufey had brought along with him, having succeeding in his first great hunt at a _very_ early age. The scars of that great hunt raggedly criss-crossed over the skin of his back and sides in the form of frost-sabre claws. Of all the hunters, Thor had always wondered why that particular Jötunn was mysteriously single, but it seemed Thor had been mistaken and Björnar _did_ have a mate, after all. It made sense. It wasn't like a strong, healthy, exceedingly good hunter to remain single in Jötunn society for _too_ long. Their skills always earned them the pick of females, who all knew they would always be a good provider for their chosen mate and the young they would have.

Thor was curious, though. What sort of female would the mightiest of hunters have as a mate? As far as Thor knew, it was some combination of emotion and Jötunn biology, if his brother was any indication. Once the heart made its choice, the male was utterly driven to obtain their chosen female's approval and ultimately her acceptance of the lifebond. There were, Laufey had said grimly, some fickle females who remained indecisive, denying the bond and thus forcing the unlucky male into mourning— something akin to, but not quite so dire, as having one's lifemate die on them. The male would wander the floes and wastes, both hunting and starving themselves in equal measure, trying to purge the agony of grief from his very soul.

Thor imagined it would have been much the same for himself had Jane ultimately rejected him as a husband, refusing for that last piece of herself to be bound with any kind of permanence.

Thor stared at the Jötunn female beside Björnar, and squinted at her. Damn if she didn't look a _lot_ like Sif. He'd have to tell her that there was a Jötunn who looked just like her. That could be… fun.

The female Jötunn suddenly dropped her arm from Björnar's and strode straight up to Lady Hermione. She then placed both palms against the smaller woman's face and drew her into a passionate kiss right there in front of Loki. Loki just blinked, a look of wicked surprise spreading across his handsome face.

The beautiful female Jötunn then leisurely walked off, arm-in-arm with a decidedly smug-looking Björnar.

Thor, completely taken aback by Loki's strangely casual acceptance of some random Jötunn female walking up and snogging his mate, couldn't help but ask. "Brother, how is it that you did allow some random female to come up and… accost your lady wife's face?"

"Hnnn," Loki said, putting his index finger to his lips consideringly. "My lady wife, was Lady Sif's kiss enough to make you reconsider the wisdom of your decision to marry me?"

Hermione promptly pulled the sealskin off her shoulder and threw it to the ground, pushing Loki down on top of it as her mouth swiftly sealed against his in a passionate kiss.

Thor's mind suddenly screeched to a screaming halt— not for seeing Lady Hermione having her wicked way with Loki right in the middle of the temple garden, that no longer fazed him in the slightest— as his shocked mind reminded him of something that Loki had just said.

"What do you _**mean**_ Lady Sif's kiss?!"

Hermione rolled off Loki for an instant, somewhat reluctantly, and Loki simply stared up at his brother, more than a little breathless. "My brother, did you not even _recognise_ our own Lady Sif, chosen mate of Björnar?"

There was a dull sort of thud as Fandral fainted dead away onto the garden path.

" _ **WHAT?!"**_ Volstagg and Hogun yelled together, their eyes wide in shock.

A blur of bright orange, crimson and white wings suddenly appeared as Yoki materialised with a soft pillow wrapped up in her coils. She propped up Fandral's head with it, gently patting him on the forehead with her tail before disappearing again in a plume of cosmic plasma.

"Wha-er-ah-um- _ **HUH**_ **?** " Hogun blurted, completely at a loss as to how to respond to the situation.

" _ **How did this happen?!"**_ Volstagg bellowed loudly.

Hermione rolled over to stare Volstagg squarely in the eyes. "Well, when two people love each other very much—"

"Ooo! The _TALK!_ " the serpentlets chimed eagerly, all of them darting out of the undergrowth to find a spot to sit near their mother. They tilted their heads and prepared to listen attentively.

"Mr Volstagg? Didn't your mummy and daddy ever tell you about the birds and the bees?"

Volstagg just stared at the serpentlets.

"Maybe they don't _have_ birds and bees in Ásgarðr."

"Do they, Uncle Thor?"

Thor was trying very hard to hold it together, albeit unsuccessfully, as his shoulders were already shaking with suppressed mirth. "We _do_ have birds… and bees as well."

"Maybe he's allergic to bees."

"That would be pretty unfortunate."

"Are you allergic to bees, Mr Volstagg?"

"Are you allergic to birds?"

"Maybe he's a bee-to-bee person."

"Are you a bee-to-bee person, Mr Volstagg?"

Hogun utterly lost it at that point, laughing himself into a near-stupor, barely able to keep his breath.

Volstagg, deciding that drowning himself in the fountain _had_ to be better than being interrogated by seven baby feathered serpents with no filter whatsoever, bolted up like an overgrown spring rabbit, muttering something about hoping that some of Lady Frigga's pet Pira were in the fountain, and ran up to throw himself into it, banging his head hard on the centerpiece and knocking himself silly.

The serpentlets gathered 'round the fountain to stare at a drenched and incoherent Volstagg, who was now mumbling something about cheese.

"He must've been really, _really_ thirsty," Naseem speculated.

Natsu tilted her head to the side in confusion. "But why would he try to drink from the Fountain of Perpetual Oxygenation?"

"Maybe he's been searching for some meaning in his life?" suggested Geir.

Yoki thought for a moment. "Maybe he couldn't breathe?"

"Maybe he wanted to go on a vision quest?" Vidar suggested.

"Ooooo, why don't _we_ go on a vision quest!" exclaimed Itzel.

"That's a _great_ idea!" the others chimed together.

"We can take him with us!"

"He obviously needs one."

"Can Volstagg breathe in space?"

""We can breathe in space!"

"So he must be able to!"

"Okay, let's go!"

The serpentlets all gathered on top of Volstagg.

**FLOOP!**

They instantly disappeared, Volstagg and all.

"Do I need to be worried?" Thor asked, scrunching his nose a bit.

"He's been immersed in the Fountain of Perpetual Oxygenation," Hermione said. "He'll be good for at least a week without air."

"Oh," Thor replied, sighing contentedly. "Well, okay then."

"How the hell do you even _have_ a Fountain of Perpetual Oxygenation?!" Hogun snort-laughed, unable to control himself.

A rainbow sock flew out of nowhere and stuffed itself into Hogun's mouth.

Loki purred at Hermione.

Hermione's eyes met his lustily.

Severus' blue hand descended down and deposited a lozenge onto each of their their tongues. Hermione and Loki sucked on it obediently and swallowed.

"There's a good pair of quetzalcoatls." Severus gave them each a pat on the head and walked off as the pair returned to snuggling with each other on the sealskin. "Kids."

* * *

"Oh come off it, Fandral, it's not like you didn't already know how it works," Hogun snickered. The blond Asgardian rubbed his temples, feeling a sudden headache coming on. "Knowing how it works and seeing Sif—"

"Happy?" Thor mused.

"Well-satisfied?" Loki asked, a large grin on his face.

"Look, it was strange enough finding out _you_ were Jötunn, Prince Loki. Stranger still that you were exiled to Miðgarðr and ended up married and not to whom you were betrothed to," Fandral bemoaned. "I'm not saying it's a _bad_ thing, I just need a little time to let it all sink in."

Thor raised a brow. "This place does tend to offer information upside the head with an accompanying smack to the face."

Volstagg, who had been delivered back by the serpentlets after his forced "vision quest," groaned from his reclining chair. "No more knowledge, I beg of you. Please, I've had enough."

"Awwwwwww!" the serpentlets cried, laying their heads on Volstagg's belly in appeal.

Volstagg's eyelids twitched as he struggled not to show how affected he was by their antics.

The serpentlets wriggled against his belly, their bright eyes wide and adorable.

Volstagg instantly became unglued, scooping up the serpentlets into his arms and hugging them tight, showering love all over them.

Thor chuckled, knowing full well that Volstagg was utterly doomed.

* * *

"Thank you my Lord, King!" The guard gushed as he grabbed up his shield and walked—no, _ran—_ towards the opening of the Bifröst.

Odin stroked his beard thoughtfully. That was the twelfth guard who had spontaneously volunteered to serve down in Miðgarðr, and none of them had given even a mere token protest. Normally, he had to all but to pull teeth, and now, for some unfathomable reason, he had guards literally lining up to serve.

What in all the Nine Realms was going _on_ down there?

Frigga was going down every day, coming back only in the evenings or begrudgingly for whatever royal duties she had to accomplish, and then back she went.

Thor, despite having reobtained Mjolnir, wasn't screaming up at Heimdall to send down the Bifröst. Loki— he hadn't seen any mischief at all that screamed of the wanton hand of his youngest son. It was like Miðgarðr had somehow swallowed them up whole.

Even more disturbing, Jötunheimr was oddly… quiet. He had questioned Heimdall as to how King Laufey was faring, and the royal guard of the Bifröst had tugged on his collar uncomfortably before finally saying, "The Jötunn King is far too occupied with his mate and family to make war on Ásgarðr, my king."

What did _that_ mean? And since _when_ did Laufey have a family again?

Sure, they did have a peace agreement, but there was always the threat that the giant king would just throw up his hands and fling their fragile peace screaming into the wind.

Perhaps, it was time to take a drink from Mímisbrunnr again. Maybe that would shed some light on what was going on. That, however, would mean appeasing the Jötunn Mímir with some sort of gift that he would find appealing, and that was never an easy task. Mímir was notoriously hard to please, not that he asked for the impossible but that he asked for the most random, often philosophical things: the wind off the back of the great frost beast, tears from a feathered serpent— such things, just in the mere decoding of what he _really_ wanted, were bad enough.

Truth be told, Odin had hoped Laufey would remain in self-banishment into the icy wastes. At least there, Laufey was no danger to Ásgarðr and thus unable to bring grave danger to the Nine Realms by causing the start of Ragnarök.

Heimdall didn't seem worried at all. In fact, Heimdall seemed more relaxed than Odin had ever seen him before. Well, except for when Odin would ask him for an update on his sons or Laufey. Then, Heimdall would turn a startling beetroot colour and spit out an incredibly rapid, almost indecipherable description of what was going on, and in the vaguest manner possible.

Odin _still_ couldn't quite figure out what was going on.

Heimdall? Blushing? Impossible!

"Heimdall, what of your sister?" Odin asked.

Heimdall's golden eyes flicked to Odin and quickly away again. "She has finally found both peace and happiness in her life," he said, his expression strangely deadpan. "I will not trouble her for her choices as long as she remains so."

Odin raised a curious brow. "Finding happiness is surely not worthy of trouble, Heimdall."

Heimdall's gaze was far away. "No, my king. But while I was here training to be a warrior, and our parents were off serving their duties in Jötunheimr, my younger sister had to find her own way through life. I am glad she has at last found her peace with that. I could only wish that such a thing was so easy for the rest of us."

Odin gave Heimdall a frankly curious look. Relationships were pretty straight forward. Find someone. Like someone. Love someone. Marry someone. Or in the case of members of the royal family, broker peace through marriage and hope that it eventually led to loving the person they had been paired with. Heimdall surely didn't have to worry about such marriages, so Odin wasn't sure just what he meant by "easier."

"Heimdall, may we speak?"

"Of course, my king," Heimdall said.

"For now, put aside that I am your king and simply tell me— did Loki find Idonia again?"

Heimdall sat down on the Bifröst dais. "Yes, he did."

"They… consummated?"

Heimdall's lips twitched. "Aye."

"Did he know that I sent Sigyn to fetch him?"

"No, Lord Odin, he did not. All of this happened before— _long_ before you sent her down to fetch him."

Odin let out his breath slowly feeling his anger starting to rise. "He does this to defy me."

Heimdall tilted his head to stare at Odin. "No, sire. He did it in order to survive. Loki was going mad. There was only one thing— one being in all of Creation who could stop and reverse his descent into madness. Had he not found her when he did— the amount of destruction he would have soon unleashed upon the world would have made Ragnarök itself seem like a garden party."

Odin flinched. "You knew what he was… is."

"Yes, my lord, and so too, did she."

"Idonia?"

"She did not _care_ that Loki was Jötunn. Her fate has been bound irrevocably to his ever since the stars that marked their births first gleamed," Heimdall said, his gold eyes glowing.

"You always had a soft spot for the girl, didn't you?" Odin observed.

Heimdall's golden eyes glowed even more brightly. "Sire, Idonia was _born_ to stave off Ragnarök. Her very conception was a venture of love between two different peoples. Her mating was fated to bind three other races together in peace."

"How is it that you know such things, yet I have continuously scoured the pools for such knowledge and yet have seen nothing?"

Heimdall blinked slowly. "Idonia's birth was… foretold, my lord. She was born of the Norns in the very womb of the Yggdrasil and the love of one man willing to sacrifice the joy of fatherhood for the future of his people. She was raised by the Yggdrasil itself— the Norns themselves— to grow entirely free of fate's bindings and make her own choices for good or ill that she would eventually foil the coming of Ragnarök. For that, she had to have the love of the great Yggdrasil, not the love of two parents. And so she did, for over a thousand years, until you, my lord, did demand her as payment for future peace, just as you took an infant Loki from the frozen wastes."

"Loki would have _died_. He had no one," Odin pointed out.

"You took her none the same," Heimdall said inexorably, "from the protective embrace of the Yggdrasil. But unlike Loki, you chose to fling her down to the lower caste as a simple sorceress, not even a goddess. And then, when she was fully prepared to accept Loki for all that he was, you threw her down to Miðgarðr, binding her very soul to a mere mortal shell for doing exactly what you _needed_ someone to do."

Odin turned his head away, staring out across the Bifröst's glow. "Who was Idonia's father?"

" _ **I**_ was," Heimdall said unflinchingly, his dark face set like stone.

"I—" Odin said, then stopped, shaking his head slowly. "I am truly sorry, Heimdall, I had no idea."

"It should not have mattered," Heimdall pointed out, his voice raising slightly for a moment before his iron control reasserted itself.

Odin's face shifted from one expression to another in rapid succession. Finally, he sighed. "You are right. It shouldn't have, and I fear that I am only just now beginning to realise the vast multitude of wrongs I have committed in an attempt to make but _one_ thing right. "Have I ruined everything then?" Odin asked brokenly. "This peace. This precious chance to stave off Ragnarök?"

Heimdall closed his golden eyes and considered how best to phrase what he needed to say. "Many of us appreciate all that you do to save our people from the ongoing threat of Ragnarök, my lord, but there is no sin in asking others for their perspective rather than acting with undue haste and courting calamity."

Odin sighed wearily. "All I have done I have done to preserve our people."

"And we do not doubt that, All-Father," Heimdall said. "Lest we would have most assuredly voiced otherwise."

Odin seemed to take heart in that, his one eye becoming less dark and his frown less dour.

Heimdall sighed. "We all do what we think is best that we might stave off the death of the gods, my lord. We have all made our fair share of sacrifices to that end, but I feel that you have unduly punished Loki for being nothing other than what he was born to be: a Jötunn. You punished Idonia for nothing other than daring to return his love— and we _both_ know that Sigyn was never right for Loki. There was no pact of any kind that needed to be sealed that would specifically require Sigyn's participation. Had she not wailed her lament upon you in the gardens and told you a tale of how another woman had stolen away her love— a love that you _knew_ was not even there—you would surely not have been so prompted to follow your youngest son in secret. Many things would have begun to change for the better and far earlier than now. And your wife and sons would not be dreading the very thought of having such a conversation with you."

Odin seemed thoughtful, his brows furrowing in contemplation. "What _has_ become of Lady Sigyn?" Odin asked, his lips pursed in a thin line.

The corners of Heimdall's mouth tugged upward as if it struggled to remain neutral but ultimately failed. "She is currently lounging in a Midgardian hospital as they attempt to repair her bones. Alas, many of them seem to require ample reconstruction."

Odin blinked at that. "What formidable foe did she face that such a thing was even _possible_?"

"Your elder son's choice in mate did protect the offspring of Loki and my daughter using Mjölnir." Heimdall's eyes glowed golden as Odin's mind wrapped around what he had said.

"What? Which Asgardian has he chosen?" Odin asked, now _very_ interested.

"The lady of which you speak, my king, is not an Asgardian," Heimdall said, his lips twitching slightly. "She is born of Miðgarðr."

" _ **WHAT?!"**_ Odin bellowed.

Heimdall gave his king a _look_ that most would have not have gotten away with, save perhaps Frigga or the Norns.

Odin, who abruptly seemed to realise that his temper was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place, attempted to count to ten, backwards, from one hundred. "This woman of which you speak. You are certain that she wielded Mjölnir?"

Heimdall smiled. "Yes, my king. And most effectively indeed. She demonstrated a sort of control over the hammer that none have ever displayed in the past. Including Thor himself." Heimdall judiciously chose to leave out the part about tiny, furry booklets and baby venomous plant life also moving Mjölnir around from place to place. There was only so much strange reality that his king could swallow in a single hearty meal. The fact that the veil had seemed to be lifted from his own vision seemed to point that Loki and Hermione had at last deemed him worthy enough to see what was _really_ going on, and until that had happened he had been as blind as a cave-dwelling crayfish.

Odin sat down from his pacing, across from Heimdall as though they were about to play a game of chess. "I see."

"There is much that I need to think upon," Odin said after a while, "but that does not mean that I will forget what a great service you have performed both for me— and for Ásgarðr itself. I believe that I will watch the Bifröst for a time, Heimdall. Why don't you— go spend some well-earned time with your family?"

Heimdall's eyes widened.

Odin met Heimdall's golden eyes and calmly held out his hand for the sword-key. As Heimdall slowly handed over the sword, he tilted his head, frank disbelief written upon every line of his face. "All that I ask is that you wait for day so that I might write a letter that will hopefully embarrass neither you nor myself."

Heimdall's mouth curved into a genuine smile. "That is more than reasonable, my lord."

* * *

_Dear Alastor,_

_I hope this missive finds you well after all of the drama involving the Weasley fiasco and the "booking" of Lucius Malfoy, not to mention the recent ruckus from Hogwarts as they attempted to get Rubeus off the school grounds without a stowaway Acromantula or two._

_Draco tells me you were instrumental in clearing up legalities so he could move on after his father sprouted fur and grew a spine. I can only thank you for that. I only wish that the poor lad could finally stop obsessing over his mother's decision to run off and disappear._ _At first, he seemed perfectly sorted, but his relationship with Ms Lovegood unfortunately deteriorated to the point where they stopped seeing each other for a few months. She's just recently married a very nice young chap, Eirik, who she met out on the ice floes. It was love at first snog sort of thing, I believe. Ah, the impetuousness of youth. Still, despite the admitted hastiness of their marriage, they are like two peas in a pod, and I can't help but smile whenever I see them so blissfully happy and getting on so well._

_Mr Nott also managed to fall head over heels in short order and has married a lovely young lass named Kelda. I haven't ever seen the boy happier, save perhaps for that time when Messrs Potter and Malfoy got buried up to their waists in magical quick-set concrete while he was able to dodge that fate and fully enjoy their predicament._

_I'm glad you managed to make it to the opening of the Asgardian Brothers Brewery. I know your schedule has been downright abusive of late, and I can only hope that you've somehow taken some time for yourself in all that hullabaloo they have you working. So much for a peaceful retirement!_

_As for me, I couldn't be happier in finally having plenty of time for myself without having to worry about someone blowing the castle up, turning someone else into a prehistoric pachyderm, or vanishing someone else's clothes, bones, hair, or any number of random body parts._

_Severus, too, much as you predicted, is downright… happy. As happy as one like him ever shows, anyway. I do believe that if he actually started smiling more and started hugging people I might have a heart attack. Hermione, of course, hugs him every single chance she gets, eliciting the expected dour-faced response, but anyone who really knows him can tell that he loves her to death. He always has._

_I know you haven't had the opportunity to visit us since your very brief visit for the opening, so I'd really like you to come by for tea whenever you next get a chance. Laufey has one of his best healers coming in because not only are a lot of people expecting babies, but our main healer, Severus' wife Ishea, is also expecting. Ishea claims that she can give birth and tend a birth at the same time, but none of us want her doing that. Severus, of course, had far stronger words that might have involved him tripping off the no-cursing hex that he himself placed on the temple grounds. It was most comical, indeed._

_Rainbow socks flying in from everywhere trying to shove themselves down his throat._

_I'm not sure who was the more amused by it all, Hermione, Ishea or me._

_Actually, it was probably the serpentlets. They are such adorable little bundles of curious mischief, that lot. Seven of them, and enough curiosity to make even felines look lazy._

_Anyway, Alastor, do stop by. It's been a dog's age, and you really should properly meet the serpentlets. It's an experience not to be missed._

_We're having a small dinner party this Friday with a small group of family. Please come by. Don't make me have Amelia lock down the Auror's office while you're out of it in order to make sure that you have enough time to visit. She would, you know._ _ **I**_ _would, you know._

_If you owl in advance, please take care to send it via the goblin answering service and they will send the message directly on to me. Owls really do seem to get rather nervous when approaching the temple._

_All the best._

_Sincerely,_

_Minerva_

* * *

"You must be one of the Asgardians."

Heimdall looked up from his waiting room chair. His golden eyes flicked to a scruffy-looking man with an strange hyper-spastic eyeball that he wore over where his real eye should have been.

"I am called Heimdall," Heimdall replied, nodding his head slightly.

"Alastor," the Auror replied with a sniff. "Looks like we're both waiting for the shuttle over."

"Shuttle?"

"The escort," Moody said. "The goblins shuttle people over to the temple grounds to keep it from becoming too busy with crowds all at the same time. It doesn't quite work. That place is _always_ busy in one way or another. What brings you down from Ásgarðr? As I understand it, you folks don't much like coming down here. Well, with a few exceptions."

Heimdall closed his eyes and opened them after a while. "I have not seen my daughter in quite some time," he said quietly. "Alas, only from afar. My duties did not permit it."

"Sounds like the life of an Unspeakable," Alastor said thoughtfully . "If they don't do their job bad things happen, but if they do their job well, their family rarely if ever sees them unless they, too, are Unspeakables."

Heimdall nodded grimly. "This is the first time— I have been permitted a respite from my normal post in well over a thousand years."

Moody's eyes widened at that. "Maybe that's nothing to you, my golden-eyed friend, but that's a damned long time to be away from anything, family or otherwise. I'd be worried my sprogs wouldn't even remember what I looked like, or me wife for that matter, if I were only so blessed."

Heimdall, oddly at ease with speaking with this strange but remarkably forward Midgardian, smiled ruefully. "Long enough that my child grew up without ever knowing who her father was."

Moody's expression furrowed. "Ach, now that's rough," he replied with clear sympathy. "I hope your reunion goes well. I can only imagine it being more than a bit complicated, especially after such a long time."

Heimdall nodded.

"She was fostered, then one day she was tendered as living collateral to maintain a peace between Ásgarðr and Nornheimr," Heimdall said grimly.

"I won't pretend to know the places, but I can get the general gist in the telling," Alastor said with a frown. "I recognise Ásgarðr, but only due to fairly recent exposure, save for the myths— or so I thought. Hell, until recently, I didn't rightly know how to properly say, much less spell, Ásgarðr."

Heimdall smiled. "After one spends too many days staring at runes, the spelling of Ásgarðr comes to seem strangely simple."

Alastor laughed, his shoulders quaking with mirth. "You're right about that."

"This way, sirs," a goblin said, appearing from the far door. "There is still a bit of wait time, but you are now free to enter the temple grounds and make yourselves comfortable. There are refreshments available in the gardens, several hot springs, and walking trails that lead you to our waterfalls. If you happen to enjoy hunting or fishing, there are shuttles to the forest and glacier preserves."

Moody's eyes widened. "You've _really_ been busy."

The goblin bared his teeth in a smile. "Worth every single hour and galleon, Auror Moody."

An orange fuzzball with a pair of bat-like ears walked, no, strutted by with nine fuzzy lintball kittens following close behind. There was something strange about the kittens— almost as if—

"Mrrrow." Crookshanks hopped up on the floating platform trolley, taking each kitten in turn by the scruff and transferring them up.

The kittens were strangely-coloured with dark green and lime green stripes and very fluffy, sinuous tails. Their paws looks suspiciously like… _hands?_

"Someone has been busy," Moody said, boggling at Crookshanks, finding himself rather impressed.

"Kneazle-cat found himself one of our goblin vault-cats," the goblin said with amusement. "I think he figured everyone else was starting a family of their own, so he should too."

"Why do I get the feeling that when you say vault-cat you don't precisely mean _cat_?" Heimdall said raising a brow and peering closely at the strange-looking litter of kittens.

The goblin bared his teeth in amusement. "Vault cats are a bit like what humans call geckos. They can climb any surface to hunt rodents and spiders and all sorts of things we don't want in our vaults. Apparently— they breed true with half-Kneazles. How— well, considering what we shelter here in the vaults, we've stopped questioning a _lot_ of things purely so we don't have to break our minds in an attempt to explain them all."

Heimdall, who had encountered his own series of frightening truths and revelations over the centuries due to his own all-seeing eyes, could only sympathise with the goblins' situation.

"They seem pretty happy and well-adjusted. Crookshanks keeps them well in line, accompanies them to the vaults to hunt every morning, and they all seem to catch their fair share of prey already. That one over there, the white kit with the green stripes, is a rat-hunter of the highest calibre. Don't let all the fluffy cuteness fool you."

"I've come to realise that cute and fluffy often hides a deadly nature," Heimdall muttered under his breath. "Usually a pair of alien antennae and a ravenous appetite as well."

"Wise words of life, Asgardian," the goblin agreed, nodding in clear approval. "Everyone on? Door closed? Here we go."

The shuttle was more of a floating platform with railings, but it moved very smoothly across the expanse and around the other floating islands.

The un-kittens watched things go by with lazy yawns, seemingly uninclined to rush over the edge or anything fatal, all save for one fluffy little daredevil, which Crookshanks simply sat on. The kitten mewled despondently, wanting to play, but Crooks was clearly having none of his antics. The fluffy daredevil kit, who had a strange patch of cherry red fur on both ears, seemed to pout, his plot to explore the great expanse stymied by his dutiful daddy.

The other kittens flicked their ears, apparently deigning to just ignore the other kitten, thinking him far too brazen for their tastes.

The moving platform came to a halt, and Crooks stood up, stretching out to his full length to grasp the latch on the door and turn it with a flick of his paw. He opened the door and walked out, all nine— eight minus one kittens following.

Daredevil kitten was frozen in place, utterly fascinated by Heimdall's boots.

Heimdall shook his head, picked up the kitten and carried him off the platform, gently depositing him next to Crookshanks. The half-Kneazle seemed to sigh heavily, grabbing the kitten up by the scruff and carrying him up the temple path, the other kittens dutifully following behind.

"That one is going to be trouble," Alastor noted, shaking his head wryly.

The goblin nodded to them in agreement. "Amenities and refreshments are all available in the main garden," he reminded them. "If you wish to rest, there are private sleeping areas on the west side of the lake, but I believe the both of you have been given private lodgings of your own in the family guest quarters overlooking the temple grounds. To get there, simply climb the outer steps to access the entrance, which is bannered in green."

"Thank you—"

"Bulruk," the goblin said.

"Thank you, Bulruk," Alastor said.

"I thank you for your most gracious assistance, Bulruk," Heimdall said formally with a nod.

The goblin flashed his teeth and closed the door on the floating platform. It slid away from the dock soundlessly.

Alastor and Heimdall exchanged glances.

"You look uncomfortable, like you just realised you left your sword at home," Alastor observed.

Heimdall raised a brow. "I did, in fact, leave my sword at home."

"Are you going to be all twitchy about it?" Moody asked, frowning slightly.

Heimdall snorted. "I will survive."

"Better man than I," Alastor grunted. "If my wand was at home, I'd be fit to kill people."

"Let us just say that I left my sword in _very_ good hands," Heimdall said with a chuckle.

The pair of unlikely friends found their way deeper into the temple gardens and found where the refreshments were being served, or rather where refreshments were being hoarded like a dragon on treasure by a grey and silver serpentlet with rose coloured eyes. Her orange and crimson belly scales flashed in the sun as her moon-white wings beat in the air, but her long tail was rebelliously rainbow-coloured and obnoxiously floofy, so much so that it seemed to get in the way of everything, including herself.

As the two men approached, the serpentlet perked up, almost tripping over her own tail. "Hallo! Would you like a drink? Or a biscuit? Both? Grandma Minerva made the biscuits. I have to watch them or they run off and cause shena-afghans."

"Shenanigans?"

"Yes, that," the serpentlet agreed, nodding her head.

"I would love a drink. Do you have a nice strong tea?" Alastor asked. "Shortbread biscuits?"

"Scottish tea, of course," the serpentlet said. She drew a mug over and hit a keg with her tail so the water came out. She breathed fire on the cup to heat it and wrestled with a teabag and put it in. She nosed a few shortbread biscuits off the top of the pile onto the saucer and nosed it over to him. "There you go! What did you want? Ooo you have golden eyes, just like my mum! Sssst! Hey guys, he has gold eyes like mummy!"

**Foowhomp!**

**Foop!**

**Fwoosh!**

**Fwop!**

In short order, seven pairs of eyes were staring up at Heimdall.

"Ooo, he _does_ have mum's eyes!"

More blatant staring.

"Well?"

Heimdall fidgeted. "Well?"

"What did you want to drink? Do you want some biscuits too?"

"Oh, uh, do you have violet ginger-seed tea and stoneberry jam tartlets?" Heimdall asked a little awkwardly, thinking to the comfort foods that his mother used to make for him whenever he was unusually stressed.

Yoki gave a serpentine shrug. "Okay! But I'm going to give you a few pieces of what everyone else seems to like so you can give it a try, okay?" She busied herself on the table, making tea with what looked like some sort of sea sponge dipped in violet petals, herded some tempting jam-filled biscuits onto the saucer, and then placed a few pieces of what looked like ornate bundles of purple fish on top of rice, wrapped in seaweed on a small tray. She then grabbed a jar with her tail, sprinkled some sesame seeds on top and gently nosed it over to Heimdall.

Alastor, who had unknowingly gotten the same treatment, cautiously poked one with his finger.

"Don't _poke_ it, eat it!"

"It's delicious," Naseem scolded, nudging the tray closer.

Alastor took a suspicious sniff, eyebrows raising as he got a whiff of what smelled like tasty, well-smoked fish. "What _is_ this?"

"Delicious," Itzel informed him.

Alastor frowned, feeling rather like he used to when his mam would scold him to eat his brussel sprouts instead of poking them about his plate and letting them grow cold. But he picked up a piece and tentatively nibbled on the end. " _ **Merlin!**_ " he gasped, licking his lips. He then picked up another piece and practically shoved it into Heimdall's mouth. "You've _got_ to try this stuff."

Heimdall looked a little dubious, but he, like Alastor, cautiously took a bite… and another bite, and—

The whole tray was clean in a matter of minutes, Alastor and Heimdall both looking like they wanted to lick the tray.

"Told you," Itzel said. "Delicious."

"Grandpa King Laufey will be happy to know someone appreciated his catch," Geir said happily, disappearing with a poof of plasma.

"It is good to see someone outside of our culture enjoying good food," a older Jötunn woman said as she came up to the table. She "paid" Yoki in pets and scritches and bribed her off the box she was curled up on. "But if you truly wish to sample our foods, I would recommend this."

She opened the box, and an icy coldness rolled out of it. "Lady Hermione was kind enough to show us how to make these boxes. They allow us to take the cold with us and keep our food always fresh."

She gestured to a few lines of finely cut slivers of glistening meat along with a rich layer of fat.

The two men, who seemed to be emboldened by their first experience, each reached for a slice, placed it on their tongues and then chewed somewhat experimentally.

"Merlin's man-tits this is _**good**_ ," Alastor moaned, startled as a rainbow sock promptly appeared and stuff itself into his mouth.

Heimdall, who seemed wise enough not to curse, smiled at the Jötunn female. "Thank you, that was very good." He reached over and un-socked Moody.

" _ **Fucking Severus!"**_ Alastor yelled. "I _**know**_ you cast that—- _ **MFFFFHHPH!"**_

The sock actually went a little deeper the second time.

Heimdall looked around, wondering when it would be his turn to be assaulted by rainbow-coloured footwear.

"Language," the serpentlets chimed in explanation. "Grandpa Severus doesn't like people cursing around 'our virgin ears'."

"How are _ears_ virgins, brother?"

"I don't know, I think it's just a human saying."

"That goes for anyone, _including_ Grandpa Severus."

"Hee hee!"

"I'm glad it's just a saying. The semantics of your ear—"

" _Shh!"_

" _Shhh!"_

The midnight blue serpentlet did a neat loop-de-loop. "You're supposed to meet with Grandma Minerva, right?"

Alastor nodded.

"Okay, you can follow me," Vidar told him. "My name is Vidar, by the way. My priestess also likes to call me 'Miscreant'."

Vidar's tail looped tightly around Alastor's wrist and he practically dragged the wizard behind him and up the temple stairs.

"They are a _lot_ stronger than they appear," the female Jötunn chuckled musically, She scritched all the remaining serpentlets until they snuggled up against her, giving her a loving lick across the nose before disappearing in a poof of celestial plasma.

Yoki looked around, curling up around her impressive pile of edible spoils, back on guard duty.

"I am called Heimdall," Heimdall said a little awkwardly.

"They call me Sonje," the elder Jötunn said. "Sometimes, I even answer to it."

Heimdall smiled.

"It seems your friend has abandoned you," she said, tsking softly. "You may sit here with me if you wish. I am preparing a hide or two for some of our new almost-couples. It is only a matter of time before they will be needed. All of the staring at each other. The sighs. The lingering touches. It won't be long."

Sonje sat down on a small stool, sitting in front of a silver-blue hide that had been stretched out on a frame. She drew a tool that looked like was crafted of ice across the skin. "Frost seal skin is perhaps the greatest gift, second only to the live-giving meat. It is waterproof, and when tanned, actually thickens, unlike other hides. They say it is because the hides are so dense that only when tanned do they expand to what they would be, had necessity not bred it otherwise."

"This hide is huge," Heimdall noted with no small degree of amazement, realising that it was easily big enough for a full-sized Jötunn to sling across their shoulder.

"Most things in Jötunheimr are much larger than life, if one were to compare it to the size we are now versus the size we would be there," Sonje replied, scraping away at the hide. "We have found, however, a second gift in what has been so graciously gifted us by the feathered gods. At this size, the great frost-seal feeds a family for _months_ instead of mere weeks. Hunters with families now have much more time to spend with their mates and children. Can you even imagine what a tremendous gift that is to a society which has always needed to spend so much time hunting to survive that that their children rarely see their fathers' faces?"

"I can certainly relate," Heimdall admitted quietly. "My daughter— she grew up never knowing me. Nor I her. It would have tolerable, had she at least been able to remain with her… mothers. But alas, that was not to be. Her destiny was sadly tampered with."

"We Jötunn have a saying," Sonje said. "The gods are to us as we are to them. Be hateful, and they shall hate us in return. Be kind, and they shall always nurture. Be thankful, and they shall ever be giving. Be open, and they shall lead the way."

"I…" Heimdall began, "did not realise the Jötunn were ones to believe in gods."

Sonje's ice-ulu stopped on the skin. "When you think of gods, Heimdall, who do _you_ pray to?"

Heimdall frowned. "We serve as gods to the Nine Realms," he said. "We do not pray to ourselves."

"But who do you pray to when all hope is lost?"

Heimdall's face seemed to crease. "We rely on ourselves."

"That is the great difference," Sonje said, resuming her skinning. "Most Jötunn, no matter how much we rely on our own strength and perseverance, still whisper prayers to the Great Frost Mother to guide our steps upon the floes. They offer her our first great hunt as a sacrifice of thankfulness and prayer that she watch over our future hunts that they may be as great as that first hunt."

"Do you know why the Jötunn and the Asgardians first went to war?"

"Do _you_ , Heimdall?"

"I do not. But for as long as I have lived, there has either been war or the constant threat of war— the looming threat of Ragnarök." Heimdall looked grim.

"Tell me, Heimdall," Sonje said quietly. "If you were happy with your own chosen gods and these strange, smaller men and women came to your world, bundled head to foot in thick clothing because the winds were too cold for them, the snow and ice too deep, the chill too bitter— they came right up to you and told you to bow. That is how we met the so-called "gods" of Ásgarðr. They were uninvited visitors who brought us nothing but questions. They ate our food, took from our children, and then— they killed those of our hunters who refused to bow down to them."

"And, irony of ironies, the first one of ours that your people killed was a Jötunn who was not even born Jötunn. He was of another Realm in which the walls were tall and the bridge that spanned the sky was multi-coloured."

"Ásgarðr." Heimdall's brows moved together. "The rumour that Jötunn would take over Ásgarðr by breeding with them—"

"Ludicrous," Sonje snorted. "The only ones who become Jötunn are those who truly wish to be. Those are always bonds of love, not hate or fear. Love for one's mate. The desire to grow a family. This was the gift given to us by our gods to give us hope, that whenever we found the one we loved, they could be with us for just as long as we are."

Sonje sighed deeply. "Do you honestly believe my people to be evil? Rapists? Warmongers? Anymore than any other person can be, simply because they do make that terrible choice?"

Heimdall closed his eyes. "No, I do not."

"Then you are not like most Asgardians, Heimdall of Ásgarðr," Sonje said, setting down her knife to slather some sort of mixture on the hide's surface. "Perhaps there truly is hope beyond the borders of this Realm."

"If you had a choice between hearing the songs of your gods in your heart and mind when you truly needed it, but had to leave behind all of your advanced technology and pick up a spear to provide for yourself and your family, would you do as our people did so very long ago?"

Heimdall was quiet for several moments. "I find that I— am not certain."

"Do let me know, if you ever figure it out," Sonje requested kindly.

Heimdall looked around and realised there were quite a few Jötunn couples in the garden, and several of those who weren't were still couples that had a Jötunn member involved. Even having seen the results of Prince Loki and Hermione's peace— he had never thought to see so many Jötunn gathered together to do nothing more than enjoy each other's company and conversation. Jötunn and Asgardians, Jötunn and humans, Jötunn and goblins, centaurs, even aliens from planets a very great distance from Earth. And almost all of them were sending the power of their faith up to their chosen gods through the temple. Loki and Hermione, in turn, fed upon the offerings and gave back blessings in return— but what was it exactly that they gave? What was it that they offered their devotees that garnered such a powerful, strong and unshakable faith?

And how had they gained it so quickly?

How could they have collected so much power in barely a blink of an eye?

Was faith _really_ the answer?

At what price?

What would be cost of relying on something as… intangible as faith? Could the Asgardian gods find it within themselves to change gears in such a manner?

What if they couldn't? What would that mean for Ásgarðr?

Or, would things simply continue on as they were while only a few learned to evolve. What if Ragnarök wasn't because of a war but because of refusal to change? Life _was_ change. Lack of change lead to stagnation and eventual death. Heimdall _knew_ that. He saw it in all the Realms, every day, every year, every passing century.

The Jötunn had sacrificed advanced technology and traded it for the protective embrace of their chosen gods, who, in turn, made them stronger, inspired them, and fostered change while preserving the core of what made the Jötunn who they were.

And wasn't that what Prince Loki and Hermione were doing here in this place? Inspiring and fostering change yet encouraging each comer to remember what made them who they were?

What of his younger sister, Sif? Was she any less his sister now that she had blue skin and a propensity to stand some thirty feet tall or more? Her once tortured, longing heart was finally at peace. She had found love and happiness in her new life. Who was he to begrudge her that?

Loki had found his lifemate, counterbalance to his mind and heart, in his, Heimdall's, daughter. They had ascended together. They had evolved, their joined essence now inextricably tied to two civilizations: the people of Miðgarðr and the people of Jötunheimr. Their children, born with the very Cosmos at their snouts, were already learning the ways of their parents by taking the power they were given and using it to heal and help those around them only a heartbeat out of their shells as Ásgarðr kept time.

And they were already lightyears ahead of most of Ásgarðr.

"Hello there, sleepyhead," a feminine voice purred softly.

Heimdall turned to see Hermione picking up the sleepy serpentlet from the refreshment table she had been guarding.

"I think you can rest now, love," Hermione said with a smile, pressing her lips to the serpentlet's head, she tucked little Yoki around her neck, and the little serpentlet curled her tail around her mother's mane, hooking herself in like an anchor and promptly went back to sleep, eyes already closing.

"Idonia," Heimdall said.

Hermione turned, tilting her head. "One name of many I have been called. Why though, do you choose the name I had prior to my exile, when Odin himself struck me down and stole my name from me?"

Heimdall flinched at that. "It is the only name I have ever known you by since the very day you were first conceived."

Hermione seemed to ponder this for a few moments, her gold-lit eyes flickering as she seemed to think of several things in rapid succession. She narrowed her eyes at him, the radiance of her golden eyes fading slightly as they closed into slits, and then she seemed to stare into and through him. Twin burning suns then met Heimdall's own striking golden gaze. Yet, while the gold of his eyes was limited to his irises, Hermione's eyes were _entirely_ golden, as though she was sunlit from within.

"Why are you here?" Hermione asked after several long moments of searching his face for any hint of silent tells.

"I wish to reconnect with the family I was denied both in honouring the wishes of the mother and later the needs of my king," Heimdall said. "I make no excuses for any mistake that I made of my own will, but I will say that at the time I made my choices, I believed I my reasoning to be sound."

Hermione let out a soft sigh. "I'm pretty sure it involved Ragnarök in some way. That does seem to be the standing mantra for most anything involving Ásgarðr."

"It is," Heimdall confessed. "A common topic of concern."

"Enough that my father would throw me off of you, my love, lest others happen to find out I was Jötunn," Loki said as he appeared in a blue flash of movement. "Heimdall. It's been some time. Father fire you?"

Heimdall tried to look stern, but landed somewhere near tired and weary instead. "Nay, our king decided to… watch the Bifröst himself for a time so that I could— attend to certain personal matters.'

"You're _joking_ ," Loki laughed. "Please tell me you're joking?"

"I am quite serious."

"You're always serious, Heimdall, but that doesn't mean you're not joking."

"I assure you, I am not joking. King Odin himself is guarding the Bifröst in my absence."

Loki narrowed his eyes, disbelief in every crease of his brow.

Heimdall held out a scroll with a distinctive waxen seal upon it. "This is for you, my prince. I was told it could be shared with your brother as well, as it does apply to you both."

Tentatively, as if the scroll might come to life like a sleeping crocodile and take a fancy to his face (starting with his fingers as a tasty appetizer) Loki's hand curled cautiously around the scroll.

* * *

_My dear son,_

_I find myself in a position I never expected to find myself in. I am finding that what I have done, for reasons I felt were in the best interests of our people, has only made things decidedly worse than they were before._

_Long ago, when I hung from the tree Yggdrasil, I gave up my own eye in the quest of greater knowledge, but the vision that choice did earn me proved to be twofold. One, it gifted me with the knowledge of the runes to share with the peoples of the Nine Realms, and which I did so give to all the people in hopes of fostering a common language between us, but on the other hand it gave me a vision of doom and destruction for our people: Ragnarök, the very death of the gods._

_As the years went by, I became utterly obsessed with the prevention of it, not wishing to see our great people destroyed. My father, Bor, did tell me of the most ancient times, when our people fought savagely with each other. On one side, we had those who wished to make their own fates, relying on no one but themselves. On the other we had a people who wished to remain true to the gods known to us, who wanted only to be permitted to raise their families in peace._

_One side was banished by my father's grandfather's grandfather into the icy wasteland Realm. One side took to the learning of arms and battle, choosing a life of self-sufficiency over any gods and these became the Æsir. The other, cloaked themselves in their faith and their gods and went off into that frozen Realm , seeming to disappear forever into the icy wastes._

_Until one day, my father set forth and betook himself to the frozen wastes of Jötunheimr to conquer those who did not believe in our people's might, who did not acknowledge us as true gods. There he found the Jötunn — a people whose sheer size shook the very earth when they walked. The storm giants, the hill giants— they both yielded to our people's might, the might of my father, but those that we would came to call the Jötunn, the frost giants, bowed to no Asgardian. They laughed at my father and said their chosen gods were far mightier than our kind. They would not accept my father's claims nor that of any others of Ásgarðr. They said the only truth they would accept was the oath-bond, that which could not be denied: of one of Ásgarðr would bind themselves to one of them for as long as the ice and snow blessed their people, they would accept it as peace between our peoples._

_But my father did not desire a mere peace. Instead, my father wanted them to acknowledge himself and his people as their new gods, and negotiations were just as long as the very days and nights were long in Jötunheimr. They lasted for a great many moons, going utterly nowhere._

_Until one day, the Jötunn raised their great voices in celebration, stomping their feet and their handcrafted spears upon the ground. The leader of the Jötunn, their king Eluf, proclaimed there to be a new peace amongst our two peoples, a peace that would be sealed in the most traditional and sacred of ways._

_My father, Bör, had no idea whatsoever about what had happened to bring this peace about. He had not told any of his people to sacrifice themselves to the Jötunn. And then, he saw him— one of his own personal guard— transformed into the very likeness of the frost giants as he embraced his chosen mate, his hand pressed against her belly with a look that my father did not believe to be proper, that he felt should never be permitted: love. Love for a Jötunn._

_My father, Bor, went mad with rage, fearful that the Jötunn would take over Ásgarðr with their vile, heathen sexual magic, and he slew every single Jötunn that was present that day— every last man, woman, and child, including the man who was once his most trusted guard._

_Upon hearing of the death of their king and their people, the grief-stricken and infuriated Jötunn immediately took up arms, raising their spears to fight Ásgarðr instead of hunting for food, and the Jötunn Laufey swore vengeance for the lives of his people that had been taken and ascended there and then as their new king, beating all those that opposed him with the very power of his rage._

_He vowed that until the sacred covenant was met, no Jötunn would would agree to make peace with those of Ásgarðr or any other Realm. There would be no meets. There would be no moots. There would be no discussion. Only one thing would prove a true desire for a lasting peace. Only one thing would satisfy the anguished cries of the spirits of the dead._

_And then, when I came to Jötunheimr to enforce peace, I finally brought the ice palace itself down after many moons of battles. Inside, was King Laufey's pregnant wife and their children. They were found crushed to death beneath the palace rubble._

_The elders cut Laufey's unborn child from its mother's womb in an attempt to save its life, but Laufey was broken and far beyond all consolement. In his grief and loss, he banished himself to the wastes, abandoning the corpses of his mate and children, all dead, save for one._

_You, Loki._

_After all the killing I did commit that day, I could not not bear to slay a tiny babe cut that had to be from his dead mother's womb, due to my decision to attack the palace. Peace was fragile, but it was there. Their king was wandering the wastes, no longer calling for war and vengeance. The Jötunn had given up, or at least, gone back to the wastes, hunting for game to feed their remaining families._

_I took you into my arms that terrible day and brought you back to Frigga, bidding her take care of you as our own son, and she did without so much as batting an eye. My hope was that in raising you, peace would remain between our people and the frost giants._

_I hoped to ensure that peace by betrothing you to Lady Sigyn— enforcing the only bond the Jötunn would ever accept, unaware that they did not view marriage in the same way as Asgardians do. A mere marriage, in itself, was not enough._

_But I did not realise this until very recently._

_At the time I saw you, your skin turning the colour of the Jötunn race without your even realising it. I saw you there, defying the peace I had so carefully planned for, and I was overcome with rage._

_And I did many terrible things that day, not the least of which was parting you from the one you truly cared for and who, I have finally come to realise, truly cared for you, Loki, and not the throne._

_I forced the soul of Lady Idonia into the unborn baby of two mortal Midgardians to punish her for defying me, but also because I did not ever wish you to know you were Jötunn. Had you remained entirely ignorant of this, I believed you would have no reason to question how you had come to be our son or where your true parentage led. You would marry Lady Sigyn, seal the covenant or so I believed, and Jötunn and Ásgarðr would finally be at peace._

_I now know that you were never truly meant for Lady Sigyn. Somehow, you knew exactly who it was that you truly needed, and I was utterly blind to that fact. Unfortunately, I did allow a weeping Sigyn to goad me into following you that day and subsequently discovering your carefully guarded secret. And then I did fall upon you and your lady in the most intimate of positions, and my mind did flee in the ensuing heat of fury._

_For this I fear I must— apologise._

_There is nothing else I can truly ask for other than to hope that you can see and understand that my lifelong obsession to stave off the very death of the gods has been occluding my vision of all else until but very recently._

_I also realise that it was not just you that I have wronged along the way. Your Lady Idonia has also suffered greatly at the hand of my temper, and Heimdall the brunt of my paranoia. It is because of me that Heimdall was never permitted the opportunity to know his daughter, and it was because of my preoccupation with my own grand design that I could not afford to have him anywhere but continually at guard upon the Bifröst, always watching for the enemies I that I knew would come, though I knew not when._

_After much contemplation, however, I realise I am guilty as any parent who wants the best for his children but really hasn't a clue as how to make that happen. Gods we may be to some, even to ourselves, but we are falliable gods, capable of great feats of epic proportions and equally great feats of utter foolishness, nay, stupidity._

_While I banished both you and Thor from Ásgarðr to learn humility, I have found myself reluctantly learning its lesson here in Ásgarðr all the same. I can only hope the lessons we learned will bring the realms closer together rather than the opposite. I now realise that my father's actions were born of fear, while our grandfather's grandfather was born of a difference of opinion. Now, thousands years later, the truth has finally come to me._

_The Realms were all populated through that critical difference of opinion, be it so very many eons ago. Some fled to Miðgarðr. Some to Jötunheimr. Some to Vanaheim, Svartalfheim, Nadavelir, Muspelheim, Alfheim, and Niflheim— and even realms that exist beneath and beyond other realms such as Nornheimr, Hel, and Valhalla. Through their beliefs, or lack thereof, they became the various, very different peoples that we now see today— Jötunn, dwarves, Vanir, elves, and, yes, we Asgardians._

_I realise that to save our people from Ragnarök, it must be all or nothing. It is not just Ásgarðr that must survive, but all of us._

_Pray, I ask that you find it in your heart to forgive a stubborn old man who truly does love you as his own son, even if he hasn't always demonstrated that as a father should. I have learned that I indeed have more than my own share of flaws, and I admit that I have done you a grave disservice, as you had to go forth to discover your own destiny, without any assistance or guidance from myself. Loki, I would like you to know that I have opened up Ásgarðr to you and your brother once more. It is open to your new family members as well._

_I would surely like to meet this Lady Jane, who has, or so I have been told, wielded Mjolnir with a ferocity that did meet, if not even exceed, Thor's own. She too is quite welcome in Ásgarðr, and I think your lady mother would be more than happy to arrange for her accommodations here so that she may get to know the people to whom Thor and you Loki have long known as your own._

_As for Lady Idonia, I do humbly ask her forgiveness as well— both for forcibly pulling her from the embrace of the Yggdrasil to enforce the peace between Ásgarðr and Nornheimr and for not treating her with the respect she so richly deserved— not by simple weight of her birth but that she deserved better as one who dared to see the truth of my youngest sons' birth and love him despite it all. She defied thousands of years worth of sadly ingrained fear and prejudice to find it within herself to do so. She did and does deserve far better than what which I inflicted upon her._

_We would all do well to learn from her example. She, too, is restored to Ásgarðr and in all ways. If she should wish to visit, stay for a time or even longer than a time, the door is open to her._

_Sincerely,_

_Your Loving Father,_

_Odin_

* * *

"This is the first I have ever seen Loki truly struck speechless. And drinking to excess," Hermione confessed as she watched both Loki and Thor chugging foamy beverage after foamy beverage.

"I have seen a good many binges in my time, however," Heimdall remarked. "But this one is definitely the most justified. All-Father Odin, in all the many years he has ruled, has never before truly apologised, save for very rarely behind closed doors, and perhaps only to his wife.

Heimdall sighed, his golden eyes flickering softly. "And can you find it within your heart to forgive _me_ for merely accepting the whims of fate and destiny without ever daring to rock the boat?"

Hermione's eyes glowed in the dimness of the room, which was set at a comfortable level for the majority of the eyes that sat within: human, Jötunn, or quetzalcoatls.

Yoki poked her mum with her tail, rubbing against her neck. "You can forgive third grandfather, right? So we can take him on grand adventures so he can have an apostrophe?"

Hermione snorted softly. "Epiphany."

"Yeah, that!"

"Just how many grandfathers do you think you need, sweetling?"

Yoki tilted her head, scratching her head with her extra floofy tail. "As many as will fit in the temple?" Yoki peered at Heimdall, visibly twitching with a nigh-overwhelming desire to pounce on him.

"I have been informed that in order for you to be suitably pounced on and smothered with love, I am to forgive you, father," Hermione said wryly. "You are forgiven."

Yoki pounced on Heimdall with a sprong, attacking his face and wrapping herself around his head like a turban. Heimdall went crashing out of his chair onto the floor.

"Mrmmrmrmfff," Heimdall said.

Loki and Thor stopped singing lewd songs about round asses and fluffy breasts long enough to bellow, "That's my girl!" and "That's my niece!" simultaneously.

Then, it was back to drunken and disorderly, half-out-of-key, maybe somewhat-in-key, but-not-quite-singing either.

Six other serpentlets then materialised out of the cosmic plasma and descended upon Heimdall with pure enthusiasm. " _ **OH! HAI GRANDPA HEIMDALL!"**_

Thump.

**OOF!**

Thud.

**WHUMP!**

All seven serpentlets pounced, then curled up on top of Heimdall with the combined mass of Mjolnir having a playdate with hyperactive booklets and their tentacula seedling hangers-on.

"Hrrrrkrrrr," Heimdall wheezed a bit.

Pop!

Pop!

Pop!

Poppoppoppopopop!

"Mew!"

Rustle.

Umpteen baby booklets dogpiled on top of Heimdall as a cluster of Venomous Tentacula seedlings hogtied him, and nine fluffy Kneazle vault-cat kittens cuddled up to his neck.

"Mew!"

Rustle, rustle.

_**RrrrRRRRRRrr.** _

"Yay, Grandpa!"

Hermione leaned over to peer at her newfound, newly-reunited biological father. "You're forgiven."

Natsu pounced on Hermione's ankle and looked up at her. "Mummy!"

"Yes, pet?"

"How many daddies can you have at once?"

"Most people stop at one."

Natsu's brows furrowed as she attempted to calculate something in her head. "How many daddies are you at _now,_ mum?"

Hermione shook her head amusedly. "Not as many as I have children."

* * *

After Heimdall had to throw the plastered and unconscious Loki and Thor over his broad shoulders and carry them off to their beds, Hermione and Jane found themselves spending the evening together and sharing a hotpot with King Laufey and Minerva, Alastor, the new healer, Tova, plus Heimdall and his new friend, Sonje.

"Severus sends his regards, but he is brewing some sort of special order for Amelia," Hermione said. "Ishea is being smothered by serpentlets because she's making frost-seal kabobs, and they will be with her until there isn't a crumb left to be had."

Laufey chuckled deeply. "Fine taste in food, your serpentlets," he said with amusement.

"You spoil them rotten," Hermione said with a smile.

"I am more than happy to," Laufey said with a wink.

Hermione sat down at the table where trays of meat and vegetables lay sliced and ready to put into large hotpot that was boiling in the center of the table. "This smells wonderful, Tova."

"It's always been a family favourite," Tova said said with a warm smile. "My mother used to make this whenever father returned from a hunt. It allowed us to cook and eat our food together as a family. That way, we never forgot our father's face and he never forgot ours."

"Wise woman," Minerva said approvingly.

The trays of various meats and vegetables went around, and there was plenty of room in the hotpot for everyone to stake their claim upon a section and set their food to cooking in the rich broth.

Conversation flowed freely, and everyone seemed amused that two of the main males were missing from the dinner table. Hermione and Jane shared a look as Alastor and Tova kept trading intrigued looks; some were obvious, some less so. Minerva and Laufey were doing much the same, only they were watching Heimdall and Sonje attempting to wrangle seafood from the hotpot at the same time and getting their utensils tangled up.

Alastor and Tova started blushing and looking away, as if fighting to pretend neutrality. Alastor might have succeeded in just looking angry, but his magical eye was darting back and forth crazily like a wit-addled fairy.

"Tell me, Alastor," Tova said, "how does one so young come to wear so very many scars of battle?"

Alastor, who was seemingly enraptured by Tova's garnet-eyed gaze, finally shook it off and made strange noises as he tried to gather his wits. "Dark Wizards, and even for a magical human, I'm really no spring chicken, lass."

"A chicken? Do they only come out during the spring thaws?"

Alastor blinked at that. "Ach, no. They, uh. Are young birds. Spring is typically— when the hens start hatching them out."

"Odd that they would rely so on the seasons. In Jötunheimr it is always warming up to thaw somewhere and then freezing solid somewhere else. It would maddening to try and base a mating schedule on such a fleeting event."

Laufey purred to Minerva. "That is why you mate when it suits you whenever your mate is ready."

Minerva purred back to the Jötunn King, tenderly placing a delectable piece of marinated seal on his tongue. Laufey made a rather fine show of enjoying it thoroughly and teasingly flicked his tongue over his lips at her.

"I hear that humans are often like the Asgardians, hiding their mates behind closed doors and groping them in the dark like bumbling hunters who grab the broom instead of the spear," Sonje said with an amused grin.

"There is nothing wrong with a little privacy," Heimdall sputtered.

"Why?" Sonje scoffed. " _ **I**_ would everyone to know that my mate pleased me and that he was indisputably _**mine**_."

Heimdall blushed a dark shade of beetroot. "Do you not worry that young children might see such a thing?"

"Children should know how to treat their mates properly, but adult activities usually just bore the younger ones. They know how to entertain themselves in plenty of other ways and places," Sonje offered with no little amusement. "But young hunters should always know how to please a mate, lest he find himself somewhere, wanting, and have no idea whatsoever to do with himself— or worse, have her reject him because he has no idea on how to please her."

Laufey turned to face Heimdall with some difficulty as his most alluring mate was being very irresistible and attractive at the moment. "A female will feel a connection, a _pull_ , just as the male, but the female must decide if the male in question is prepared to provide for both her and a child, as she will not be able to provide anything more substantial than fish with a young one in tow. It is not right to endanger the child by dragging it along with you where frost sabres can easily rip them off your back for a quick meal. A Jötunn female is often a great hunter up until the point where they are with child, and then they become like the frost-sabre— fierce and protective. Some females are fickle and want more than any male could possibly give, but most seek only a mate that can and will provide, that she and their children will thrive and that any children will be born with the best traits of both parents. My first mate, I pursued for three full moons, bringing her all sorts of offerings of my prowess, and every time she would take them, and then ignore me. I thought she was merely toying with me until at last we coupled— and then I found out that she had cached it all, making hunting caches for me for if I was caught out on the wastes without game. She… was preparing for me."

Laufey looked thoughtful. "Minerva, she impressed me from the start with her gentle tending of the serpentlets. Her loving kindness and patience. Her wonderful cooking. Her wisdom of the world. I felt the unmistakable calling. I felt it in my very liver. But I worried— would she, could she accept someone like me? She who knew so very little of me or my people. I was frightened, but I was more frightened that I would end up leaving without her at my side, because I could already feel her inside me, wrapped tightly around my heart. I knew that if she rejected me, I would long mourn what could have been."

"As if anyone could possibly reject _you_ , Laufey," Minerva snorted, giving him a fond look with a distinct hint of dubious suspicion around the edges.

"Mrrr," Laufey purred.

Minerva purred right back.

Tova looked at Alastor a little more seriously. "What happened to your leg?"

"Slicing hex and Fiendfyre," Moody said grimly. "There was nothing to reattach."

"Your nose?" Tova said, peering at the large indentation.

"Sodding familiar of a Dark Wizard," Alastor sighed. "She was raising some sort of magical cross-breed mix of Acromantula and fire crab. Illegal, all of them, and the biggest of the lot was her familiar. Vile critter took chunks out of a few other Aurors before it got to me."

"It's no wonder you carry such distrust of the world around you, Mr Moody," Tova said grimly, shaking her head in dismay. "I am truly amazed that you can even see fit to trust anyone or anything in a world that has taken so much from your body, if not your mind and heart."

"Well, Minerva here is an old friend, and I've learned I can trust her more than most folks out there," Alastor grunted, flushing slightly. "She's not one to trust just because someone else tells you to, and she knows enough not to take everything she hears as the the word of truth just because sodding Dumbledore said it. Wish I could say I'd learned that lesson sooner."

"This Dumbledore," Tova asked, frowning. "An evil man? Child abuser?"

"Not like that, lass," Alastor assured her. "Ruthless and manipulative with far-reaching goals, long-range plans. Most people wouldn't know. They all think he's a nice, doddering old coot of a wizard who just "cares" too much."

Tova tilted her head and fished out a few more pieces from the hotpot. "There are good and bad people both amongst our people, but the bad tend to do stupid things that get them killed young. It is considered better to die young and stupid than grow old and pass it on. Fortunately, most of that happened many thousands of years ago, so those that remain are, for the most part, stable and healthy."

"There is the odd fluke now and then, which is usually well-sorted by a sea-wolf whale," Laufey said grimly. "There is a big difference between being brave and being stupid, and that is quickly defined when there is death that launches itself at you from below the ice."

"Sounds like a rough school of hard knocks," Alastor said.

"Jötunn children learn quickly to pay close attention to their parents lest they fall through the ice," Sonje said with a smile. "They are born small and that makes them less apt to fall through, so by the time they are fully grown, they have already learned all the tricks. Not that accidents never happen, but accidents are a part of life. No matter how cautious you are or how prepared. Still, I raised a few to adulthood in my day. All of them are fine hunters. One newly-mated with a child on the way. He actually found someone just as brazen and forward as he is, but they are both loving, compassionate souls. As a mother, I can ask for nothing more."

"And from whom did he inherit those brazen and forward traits?" Tova asked.

Sonje smiled. "His father was very calm and easygoing for our kind. Slow to anger. Patient. He would wait for hours for the seal to come up for one last breath of air. And he would be there, lugging back his catch, the like no other hunters had seen. Alas, my youngest son did not inherit his patience, and instead he acquired my need to grab hold of what I desire with both hands and hold it fast like a trap. I blame the loss of their father and the ravages of war. They stole my children's childhood and their mother from them, for I had to brave the wastes to hunt instead of caring for them as they deserved. The young males rarely wandered as far out as we had been, and the children were far too young to move."

"You raised multiple sons all by yourself, my lady?" Heimdall asked quietly. His face was solemn and his golden eyes shone with a new kind of respect for the Jötunn female.

Sonje harrumphed. "Who else _but_ me?"

"I meant no offense," Heimdall assured her. "It is an impressive feat for anyone to raise a child alone, much less multiple children. I can only imagine it to be much harder in a place where the very ground itself tries to open up and devour you and the wind and snows to blind you."

Sonje's expression softened. "It was hard, but I was no new hunter, thankfully. I had gone many years before I had found my mate. Thankfully, we had already taught the younglings to fish, and that they could do from within our home, cutting through the ice and setting their baits in. I had never been so thankful that my mate insisted we teach them such things so early on. He called it a game, of course, so they never realised how dire their situation— only that they caught more than their brother did. I think my mate would have been proud of them. I am."

"I believe he would be, my lady," Heimdall said kindly.

"Well, I think this one is going to go for a nice evening walk in the gardens. It is still very new to me how we can walk about comfortably in a place without snows and feel the cool grass beneath our feet," Sonje sighed appreciatively.

"Would you mind some company, Lady Sonje?" Heimdall asked.

"Ha! If I minded company, golden-eyes, I would not be here having a communal hotpot dinner. But no, I would not mind company." The Jötunn's garnet eyes flickered with clear amusement. "Thank you for the lovely dinner, Tova, and your gracious hosting, Lady Hermione."

"It was nothing," both Hermione and Tova said together, smiling warmly.

Sonje stretched as she left the chair, bowed her head, and excused herself.

"I supposed I will see you all in the morning," Heimdall said politely. "Thank you for the wonderful dinner."

"You are quite welcome," Tova said, a tug of a smile on her lips as the dark Asgardian then rushed from the room to catch up to Sonje.

"Three fattened Acromantulas under the Engorgio that those two are mated by dawn," Hermione said, utterly deadpan.

"A fresh frost-seal in their winter fur," Laufey said after some thought, "by midnight."

Minerva gasped. "They went for a _walk_ , not a tryst!"

"Heimdall joined her on that walk, my love. Trust me, Sonje knows _exactly_ what she wants," Laufey said with a knowing smile. "Or rather, _who_."

Thump!

Roll, thud.

Jane having left earlier to see to her babies, only Laufey, Minerva, and Hermione were left to slide their eyes over to the other side of the table, as Tova and Alastor suddenly seemed to missing… from their respective chairs.

Hermione slowly peeked under the table. "Oh my."

"That missing leg doesn't seem to be any hindrance," Laufey observed, his eyes flicking below the table.

Minerva looked smug. "As long as the third one is in fine working order, she probably doesn't _care_ , love."

Laufey munched on a meatball. "At least we don't have very far to go." He placed the tin of bonding ice-paint on the table. "Missing one elder, however."

**Pop!Pop! POP!**

Ishea suddenly appeared, her entire body covered in cuddly serpentlets. "Did we miss it?"

A low moan of pleasure came from under the table.

"Nope! Just in time!"

"Phew."

Vidar, Geir, and Raina rubbed up against Hermione, Minerva, and Laufey.

"Wouldn't want to be one elder short of a mating!"

"That would be terrible!"

"They'd have to do it again."

"Wait, they might _like_ that."

"Hrm…"

"Still, the other elders are already watching Grandfather Heimdall and Lady Sonje."

"True."

"Less running for Grandpa King Laufey."

"That's good too!"

"Indeed."

"Ooo, there is food leftover."

"Hotpot!"

"I'm still full from Lady Ishea's feast."

"True."

"Maybe a meatball?"

"I could handle a meatball."

"Me too."

The serpentlets eyed their grandfather with wide eyes.

Laufey shook his head and gave each serpentlet their own meatball to throw into the hotpot.

They eagerly did so, watching their meatballs bob on the surface as they soaked up the tasty broth.

When the meatballs appeared "done" each serpentlet grabbed one, carried it in their mouth, rubbed the heads against Minerva, Laufey, and Hermione, and the poofed, disappearing in a cloud of cosmic plasma.

Hermione handed Laufey an egg-shard pendant as the table began to shake. "Better get it on quick before he turns completely into all thirty-some feet of lusty Jötunn male."

Laufey didn't need to be told twice as he moved into place and maneuvered the pendant around Alastor's neck. He pulled out the bonding ice-paste and dipped his fingers in.

"I, Laufey, witness your union…"

* * *

As Hermione quietly slipped into bed, a pair of warm arms slid around her waist and pulled her deeper under the covers as an equally warm mouth was affixed to her neck.

"Ach!" Hermione managed, her body spasming as eagerly roaming hands caressed all the right places to disable any and all protests she might have at least considered. Warm, comforting heat and the irresistible scent of her mate caused all coherent thought to escape, leaving her alone with just enough brain functionality to remain breathing. She let out a low moan of pleasure as he moved around her, touching, caressing, and running his fingers down every curve of her runic markings until teeth were chattering in her undefinable lust-saturated pleasure.

"You— oh _Merlin_ —you were supposed to be sleeping it off," a gasping, wriggling Hermione attempted to protest.

"Are you complaining, my lady wife?" Loki seemed to pout, running his hands tantalizingly lower… and lower. "That my ability to recover from a state of total intoxication seems rather better than my dear brother's?"

"Hardly complaining," Hermione murmured breathily as Loki's mouth descended upon her ear, and his very talented tongue flicked out to investigate her readiness.

Hermione cried out, her body arching up into him almost immediately, and Loki's smug smile of satisfaction took over his face. "No reason why the newly-mated should have all the fun, hrm?" He reveled in her far-from-quiet sounds of excitement and pleasure— the sounds that told him she hungered for his touch just as much as he did hers— she only wanted Loki and no one else. It both calmed his mind and stoked the fire of his passion and his driving need to ensure she was not ignorant of any of his markings— both physical and psychic.

In the pit of his stomach or perhaps the insecurity the harboured in his soul, he truly needed every cry, every moan, every touch her skin on his to remind him of just how much he had gained by finding her again— how much pain he had avoided.

Chaos.

Rage.

Destruction.

Bloodshed.

Ragnarök.

The madness without end.

The overwhelming _need_ to find that something that he could not remember, driving him to the edge of endless fury and despair.

The look on her face— his Idonia— after seeing the change that had come upon him, even when he hadn't known it had happened. She had been fascinated. Attracted. She had somehow known that he would never have hurt her. Somehow, she had _known—_ even when he didn't know himself.

Hermione, perhaps impatient with his distracted brooding, gave a low and possessive growl of her own, irritated perhaps that dark thoughts were stealing his attention away from her where it _belonged_ , and she rolled him over, thumping his back soundly to the bed with an almost-hiss, her eyes glowing like twin suns. Her mouth sucked on the sensitive skin of his neck, causing him to let out a loud moan of unmistakable pleasure. His hands struggled to touch her, but she pinned them back with her own hands, using her weight to give her leverage.

Her warm mouth trailed across his skin from his neck to his chest and lower, and every feather-light touch of her lips on his markings made him pant and strain to touch her, claim her, bury himself deep inside her lest she disappear like a beautiful, unattainable dream.

But somehow— and he had no idea _how_ — she was holding him tightly pinned beneath her like Mjölnir with a baby booklet that most desperately wanted to investigate that oh-so-intriguing cooking fire. Her incredibly wicked serpentine tongue slithered out from her mouth and demonstrated a rather ingenious use of prehensile dexterity.

Loki cried out, his head slamming against the bed as his eyes rolled back into his skull. White-hot jolts of electricity were shooting up his spine and most definitely his more-than-ready manhood and that was even _before—_ _ **HHNNGGNGHGFAAHHHHH!**_

Then her mouth found his bollocks, and he found that words utterly failed him at this point. All he could make was a loud whimpering groan as the feel of her heat and the flicks of her tongue wrought such delicious, mind-blowingly exquisite pleasure upon him that he would have thrown himself off the precipice into the very jaws of the great sea-wolf whale and gladly as long as he kept feeling _that_.

Loki struggled again, slightly more desperate now, knowing that he didn't have it within him to last— not with that exquisite feeling wrapped around his—

His hips ground upwards, seeking, wanting, _needing_.

He needed that last bit of connection, to feel her shudder around him.

"Please," he finally managed, his eyes meeting hers. The glow of his crimson eyes was fierce, primal and needful.

She hesitated, seemingly driven to complete her task.

"Please," he repeated, almost begging. "Release me."

And suddenly he was free.

Loki was affixed to her mouth in an instant, his tongue sliding against her even as his arms pulled her to him. One hand slid between her legs— testing, and he knew that she hadn't gained anything from her torture of his body. He growled, wrestling free of her mouth if only to take in her breast, and Hermione cried out, her body spasming, a moan escaping her throat.

The sound of her— wanting of _him_.

He merged with her, thrusting his hips madly like a man possessed, each one causing Hermione to cry out a little louder until he buried himself to the hilt and felt the floodgates suddenly open.

She clamped down upon him, and he was done, undone, redone, and remade. He buried his teeth into her neck, clamping onto the intricate lines of her runic markings as his magic and hers merged together and blew outwards in a brilliant flare of colour, a magnificent electromagnetic lightshow. They collapsed together, panting, in a wild tangle of arms and legs, scales, and skin, feathers and hair. The duvet moved over them and they snuggled together, unable or unwilling to move as a low, deep rumble of thunder boomed outside the temple and rain began lightly pattering against their bedroom windows.

Loki's smile buried itself in Hermione's mane of curls and feathers.

Thor never could stand to be left out of anything, even when he was so drunk that he was seeing things replicated five times over.

Loki snuggled closer into his beloved mate. Let Thor have his fun. He had a long way to go to catch up to his seven serpentlets— perhaps even more had Severus not so kindly assisted them in keeping it realistic, lest the entire temple be filled with adorable baby quetzalcoatls.

Besides, at this rate, the Asgardian population would be taking a sharp nosedive as they both converted and repopulated soon after.

Heh.

Pity Sigyn couldn't see past a many-thousands-of-years-old grudge— she might have enjoyed a much more exciting life with a strapping Jötunn hunter, just so long as said Jötunn was not _him_. Once she managed to get off the sealskin, she might even thank the poor bloke. Alas—

He now wondered, had Frigga met Laufey first before Odin, just how different things might have been. But no, his father was most definitely happy with Minerva and she with him. He would never wish them apart for any reason. Some things happened as they had to happen, and perhaps even his time of pain had come so that he could learn to better appreciate what he _had_.

He snuggled even closer into his Hermione.

He definitely appreciated, and he would never take for granted the greatest gift he had ever been given and the chance to find her again despite nigh-insurmountable odds.

Pop!

Pop-pop!

Pop! Pop! Pop!

Pop!

Seven sleepy serpentlets burrowed themselves under the covers to sleep with mum and dad.

Loki smiled as little Yoki burrowed up between them, wanting the touch of both mum and dad together.

Loki closed his eyes. Everything was just fine.

_**RrrrrrrRRrrrRRR!** _

Flop. Flop.

Boingggggg, flop.

Rith, Grim, and Violet hopped onto the bed and burrowed under the covers to snuggle under Hermione's arms.

 _ **PurrrrrrrrrRRRrrrr!**_ Thud. Pad. Pad. Pad.

Crookshanks burrowed under the duvet as well, snuggling under the warm covers.

"Mmmm," Hermione hummed contentedly.

Everything was perfect.

* * *

Hermione woke up in the morning only to end up being promptly dragged off by Lady Tova to assist with the second birth that morning. Minerva had apparently turned into a giant frost sabre-cat and had given birth to her babies as a giant polar feline. She had, since, recovered, and was happily cuddling with her newborn baby and her mate. While Hermione was still trying to wrap her mind around Minerva's change in Animagus form, Laufey was tenderly tracing his baby son's markings with a special, glowing paint.

"You are Vali, firstborn with my mate, Minerva, second to Loki," Laufey said proudly. "May you grow to be powerful and strong, yet as wise as your mother. Learn from your brother that size is not an indicator of power. Learn from your mother that the only size that matters is in the heart. Learn from your father that mistakes will be made for we are all flawed in some way, but we can all learn from them and become better." He pressed his lips to the child's forehead, smiling down on the wide-eyed child.

Ishea was already in the birthing pool, grasping the two large ropes and wrapping them snugly around her wrists and hands as grips to hold onto. With every contraction she held on tightly, pushing with all her might, yet she rested in between. Many births had come her way before, so she was not new to the experience, both in bearing witness and as a mother herself. Unlike the outer skin of the Jötunn, which often ran as cold as the ice they made their home, their inside temperatures were raging infernos by contrast, and the water she was birthing in was somewhere in-between. Hermione waded in, ready to do whatever was required of her, and Tova quickly gave her a few instructions as she tended to Laufey and Minerva's baby to make sure everything was in proper order.

"You need not worry, Hermione," Ishea chuckled warmly. "I am an old hand at such things. Just catch him as he swims out like a sea-wolf and avoid being bitten."

Hermione snorted softly. "Sea-wolf, indeed."

Ishea smiled, tired but also victorious. Another contraction came, and Ishea's fists tightened around the cords as she leaned forward and pushed. Severus had his arm around her, supporting her as she both stood and squatted at the same time. He pressed his face to her skin and whispered things to her.

Ishea smiled despite the pain, the contact with her mate taking care to ease any momentary suffering on her part. Geir was wrapped securely around her neck, leaving her just enough room to breathe, but the rest of him was massaging her neck and shoulders dutifully as he radiated pure protective fervour.

Vidar, however, was curled carefully around baby Vali, using his own body as a makeshift bassinet so Minerva could close her eyes without worry. Even Laufey seemed to take a moment to close his eyes, allowing the weariness settle down upon him.

Suddenly, Ishea's pushing was rewarded, and her baby came out much as she had expected, as quick as a sea-wolf whale after a fat frost-seal on the ice. Hermione caught the little blue torpedo, raising him up from the warm water and wrapping him gently in a swaddle. He cried loudly in protest to the "colder air" and then cried loudly that the swaddle wasn't quite as comfortable as his mother's womb.

Hermione grinned down at the fussing baby. "Hello, little brother," she cooed. "Welcome to Miðgarðr."

He stopped crying and stared up at her in fascination, though what he truly saw remained a mystery.

Hermione placed the baby against Ishea's chest, allowing skin to touch skin. Severus had carefully moved his mate back into bed to recover, and Ishea caressed her new baby's head fondly. "You are called Falkor, guardian of the people," Ishea said. "Firstborn son to Severus, younger brother to Hermione and my sons Gunnarr and Ormarr."

Geir slithered down from her neck and curled around the baby, much as his brother had done, keeping the baby cradled in his coils so Ishea could rest peacefully. "I've got you, Uncle Falkor," Geir said proudly.

Severus wrapped his arm around Geir, the baby, and his mate, pressing his head against her skin. Ishea's breathing returned to normal as they rested together.

Hermione closed the privacy curtains, given them all time to revel in each other and happy they could be so without the threat of war and violence stealing away their happy moment.

"Daughter," Severus voice was deep and riddled with powerful emotion.

Hermione turned and found herself engulfed in black, the brief flash of blue skin wrapping around her waist and pulling her into a firm embrace.

Hermione said nothing, but there were tears flowing down her face as Severus dragged her back behind the curtain to be with the rest of their family without a further word between them.

Rith, Grim, and Violet bounced over to where Hermione was, looking around this way and that for their mistress.

" _ **RrrRRRrrr?"**_

" _ **Rrrrrr!"**_

"This way, silly books," Hermione said, her voice choked with emotion.

" _ **Rrrr!"**_

All three books bounced under the curtain and disappeared.

Crookshanks, eight kittens in tow and one carried in his mouth, led his family under the curtain and beyond without a word being said.

* * *

"Mrrrt!"

"Mew!"

"Prrrt!"

"Mew!"

" _ **RrrRrrrrRRR!"**_

Rustle. Rustle, rustle.

Thunk.

Drag. Drag. Drag. Thunk.

"I," Heimdall managed to say as he watched the assorted un-kittens, booklets, and venomous tentacula seedlings playing on Mjölnir. The hammer, which Heimdall had never taken as being even remotely nurturing, took it all in his stride. "I have no idea _what_ I'm seeing," Heimdall said, furtively rubbing the area between his eyes.

"I know what _I'm_ seeing, brother!" Sif crowed from across the room. She ran up to her brother and threw her arms around his neck. "It's so good to see you. Here. Now. _Very_ blue." She wiggled her eyebrows. "You kept your golden eyes set in a field of red. I see even the change could not steal the sunlight from your eyes."

Heimdall flushed a little purple, but he held his sister tightly. "How good it is to see you, sister, and not have it be some fleeting thing on your way to one place or another."

"How is it you are here, Heimdall? Not that I am complaining!" Sif said with a wide, happy grin. "As I understood it your position guarding the Bifröst was nigh eternal. Björnar! Come meet my brother!"

"Well— hello!" Björnar looked Heimdall up and down. "Now I see why Sonje has such a look of smug satisfaction on her face today. I am very glad for you both. I am glad for our people too."

Heimdall continued on in a chronic state of purple. "If you would but believe it, All-Father himself took up guarding the Bifröst in order to give me some family time."

Sif grinned. "Family time, eh? Making a family time?"

Heimdall turned an even darker shade of purple. "That was not exactly planned, sister."

"Great sex should _never_ be planned," Sif said with a cheeky wink.

"Sister, I have never known you you to be so casual about—"

"Come, brother," Sif chided. "We are not in Ásgarðr here. Here is where honesty begets the truth of the heart. I find it liberating to be able to love my mate and let others know exactly what he does to me. Surely you felt this for yourself?"

Heimdall flinched. "I did. I just find it… hard to adjust so quickly. I have spent a great many more years squelching such emotions or thoughts, even with only myself for company."

"Well, I am pleased to see that Sonje has brought you out of your shell," Sif said approvingly and with a knowing smile. "That is enough and at least for your mate, you should be the most honest. Until you are better adjusted to being more open with others."

"I hear that you wrestled the frost-seal with your bare hands having lost your knife to the ice floes," Björnar said. "That is a most impressive feat, especially for a first attempt."

"Not so impressive that I lost my knife," Heimdall replied solemnly.

"You impressed Sonje," Björnar said with a smile. "Besides, that you can succeed without a knife, it is no wonder she could hardly wait to throw you down up on the sealskin."

"There were two young men having dinner in the dining room. They did not seem quite so pleased to see my offering. Midgardians." Heimdall gave them a questioning look.

"Ah, those would be Hermione's human friends— one Draco McCoy or something and a Harry Cobler."

"That doesn't quite sound right," Björnar said, scratching his head. "Yet I find I cannot offer any better."

"Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter," Theo said with a grin as he threw a freshly-killed Acromantula carcass onto the dining room table, much to the delight of his mate and some of the other visiting Jötunn. They have weak stomachs around carcass blood, I think. "Harry wanted to invite Hagrid over for lunch, but I told him unless he wanted the man in tears and threatening to beat up every Jötunn on the temple grounds, that would probably not be a wise choice of action."

Sif frowned. "He does not like good food?"

"He was "friends" with the Acromantulas," Theo said with an aggrieved sigh. "It is a long and complicated story, and it ends in tears. Grief for him. Frustration for everyone else."

"Harry is a bit of a bleeding heart type," Luna said dreamily. "He has a very good heart, but he is blind to a lot of things that Hagrid does because Hagrid was one of the few friends he had when he first came to Hogwarts. It makes him very loyal but a little unwise. Fortunately, he can still help run a business as long as he isn't the one making any diplomatic decisions. Theo does best with that. Draco is better with the maths. Harry does well at the more creative side of things. He's actually quite good at advertising and promotions."

"And what do you do, Lady Luna?" Björnar asked.

"I record all the research and development that Severus does, handle all of the paperwork, keep the books, and remember to feed the owls. The boys seem to forget that owls have to eat too. Odd, since Harry once had an owl himself. He should _know_."

"Thor and Loki handle the money exchange and security through the goblin nation, as there are a great many societies sending pilgrimages and delegations to the temple from the furthest corners of the universe and beyond. Together they have added a combination of protections to keep all of the visitors safe," Theo said. "Since we have begun serving food and drink here at the temple for our guests, currency and security have both become major concerns. There are many children here as well." Luna smiled. "I am glad we have such a place of peace that people feel safe here. It is just hard to ensure it stays that way."

"Like the giants that invaded a few months ago?" Sif asked.

Luna nodded.

"Why would Jötunn make war upon the temple? Björnar asked.

"These were giants not of Jötunheimr, Mr Björnar," Luna said. "These were of Miðgarðr, spurred on by rumours of land and food. My Eirik asked me the same question, wondering what insanity would have stricken his people. At least here, when we say giants, we refer to the ones of Miðgarðr, not to be confused with Jötunn of Jötunheimr, the storm giants, or mountain giants, or rime giants."

"And what of the other giants of Jötunheimr?" Heimdall asked. "They were never at war with Ásgarðr, but do they pose a threat to Miðgarðr?"

"Nay," Laufey said as he led his mate and their newest edition into the dining area. "Útgarðr-Loki rules the stronghold of Utgardhall in Útgarðr. He has kept the peace between all giants of Jötunheimr, even when there was war amongst other Realms."

"Útgarðr-Loki?" Heimdall asked, frowning.

"He is the ruler of Útgarðr," Laufey said. "While my people may call me king, he rules Útgarðr, the largest and most sprawling city in Jötunheimr. He is a master of sorcery, and he can control the very weather, or so they say. Many would not choose to piss him off, lest they personally find out if such stories are truth. Most of my people prefer to live on the wastes than in such a vast city. He leaves us alone, whether because we do not annoy him or because he fears the Great Frost Mother's wrath should he stoop to murder our faithful on a whim, this I do not know."

"Rumour has it," Björnar said slowly, "that he fears the tests of the ice and snow and that sorcery will not save him from the sea-wolf whale or the Jötunheimr frost beasts. They say that he never had his great hunt, and that his mate was chosen with no hunt to earn her favour. It is only rumour because it has been so long since he has left Útgarðr. Yet, it seems logical that one who never gained the Great Frost Mother's blessing would fear the icy wastes of her domain."

Laufey shook his head. "The females prefer to hunt the wastes, so _we_ prefer to hunt the wastes. Without the females, we would not have a future. There must be some inner wisdom that drives the females out to hunt rather than stay in the walls of a city. We often take for granted that this is so, thinking it has always been such, but they made this choice, and it has worked for us. Only a few females choose to stay in Útgarðr, at least of the frost giants."

Björnar smiled. "Perhaps, you should ask Sonje what drove _her_ to the wastes instead of seeking the safety of Útgarðr."

"Well, that is easy, young pup," Sonje said as she rubbed Heimdall's arm in greeting. "The giants in Útgarðr grow fat in their laziness. Their minds are dulled because they do not worry about what lurks below the ice. They cannot hear the song of the Great Frost Mother. Their children grow up, but their minds are are nothing to be proud of. I left my family in Útgarðr, gladly, upon hearing the song of the Great Frost Mother in the snows. She promised that if I but only listened to her song, my children would grow up strong and thrive. And so hey did. They both have fine mates who do not huddle around a fire in a city simply to avoid hunting. A female looks for the strong, the fit, the sharp mind, the clever trapper and tracker, and the successful hunter. You look at Tova's new mate. He may have lost a leg and even an eye, but do you see _him_ complain? No. He was fit enough to claim her— to catch her eye and keep it. There is no doubt in my mind that if you threw him to the frost sabre he would come out on top, even if he had to strangle it to death with his bare arms. He would survive because he has _already_ survived so much. And, if the Great Frost Mother blesses their union, perhaps he has been given a gift in the change as well to prove he will come to survive even more."

All the gathered listened to Sonje as if they were serpentlets listening intently to the story from their elders. Their heads were cocked and eyes enraptured.

"Psh, stop staring at me like I'm an old spinstress weaving seal coats for my many grandchildren," Sonje chided.

The gathered attempted to make it look like they weren't listening, but had only relative success at best.

Sonje seemed to think of a way to get them to stop staring at her by promptly grabbing Heimdall by the face and giving him a _very_ thorough snog. Like magic, the crowd dispersed to give the couple a little privacy, lest the older female throw down her sealskin in front of the entire dining room party and have Heimdall the talk of the entire gathering.

"Where is Alastor?" a curious Theo asked as they walked to the table.

"Oh, I'm sure he'll turn up," Luna said dreamily. "Once he's made sure Tova has been impregnated with triplets."

"Damn," Theo said, impressed.

"I'm pretty sure he wants to make triply sure that his change is not going to reverse," Luna said. She turned to Theo. "I'm not quite sure why you're so impressed, seeing as you gave Kelda quadruplets. You'll be hunting more than anyone here or back in Jötunheimr."

**Thud.**

For the very first time, it was Theo hitting the floor in a dead faint.

Luna blinked. "Hrm, I thought he knew that. Oh, well. Oops."

Sif busted up laughing. "Björnar, if you have given me more than twins, I will find a way to transfer the remainder to your abdomen and _you_ shall carry them to term."

Björnar's eyes widened at that, and he swallowed hard. "We were apart for a thousand years, my mate."

"Worried, Björnar?" Laufey asked, grinning madly.

Björnar turned violet. "I was quite… thorough in the claiming of my mate, my king."

Laufey grinned even wider, moving to join his mate at the table. "I suppose we'll see the results in a few months, hrm?"

Sif glared at Björnar.

Björnar gave her his best, most charming smile as Theo drooled away on the ground in blissful oblivion.

* * *

"It's just… gross," Harry confessed. "The very sight of blood is bad enough when I have to stare at it, but it just— I just can't see a carcass cut up and placed in the same shape it would have been before you cut it. I want my food on a plate looking like, well… food."

Hermione sighed. "Would it help if I transfigured it to look like lobster?"

"Lobster I could actually eat," Harry said with a shudder as he looked at the acromantula legs. "Just watching Luna eat that makes me want to—" Harry made a mad dash for the loo.

Hermione thunked her head onto the dining room table.

"Doesn't care for the cuisine, hrm?" Moody asked, sitting down beside her.

"No, and I don't think he ever will, short of me transforming it into looking like something he would eat, like a burger with a side of chips." Hermione sighed. "I've tried over a hundred new and alien dishes just this week. One of them was even still alive as I ate it. That was— creepy. Yet apparently on that planet you _have_ to eat it still alive because all the stuff grows back. If you kill it—"

Moody shrugged. "Every society has different issues and different foods. We're just lucky that it tastes so good."

Hermione grinned. "True."

"How are you feeling today, Alastor? I heard that our serpentlets gave you a little biting gift this morning."

Alastor snorted. "You should've warned me they could do that. I thought they were trying to eat me leg."

"I fear if warned you of everything my children _MIGHT_ do, we would be here for a hundred years just getting through the basic list." Hermione grinned at him.

Moody extended his now-pristine blue leg and proudly wiggled his toes. "Tova took one look and told me not to dip my leg in the ice floes trying to taunt the sea-wolf whale into taking it off at the socket."

"Sounds wise."

"She's refreshingly to the point."

"You wouldn't be so in love with her otherwise. Mind you, _most_ Jötunn women are wonderfully practical and to the point."

"She threw me down under the dining room table and had her wicked way with me!"

Hermione slid her eyes over. "And you're complaining about that?"

"Well, _no—_ "

"Were you unsure if all your parts were in suitable working order?"

Moody blushed. "They were working just _fine_ , lassie."

"Seeing as you're quite permanently changed, I'm thinking both you and she are very well set to have multiple children." Hermione grinned as Moody flushed purple.

"How are you so sodding _calm_ about such things, Hermione?"

"I see dreams, dear Alastor," Hermione laughed. "Believe me, real life is actually quite tame by comparison."

Moody shook his head. "I wouldn't be wanting to see such things given some people."

"Sirius Black is not allowed to spend the night at the temple. My serpentlets do not need that type of exposure. That's saying something when they are perfectly fine listening in on the other dreams about this place."

Moody shuddered. "Don't want to know."

"No, trust me, you _really_ don't."

"Hermione, they say that you and Loki, well, obviously, but—" Moody struggled to say what he meant. "Why aren't you bright blue like the rest of us?"

Hermione laughed. "I think being a gargantuan feathered serpent god sort of cancelled out one part of the conversion in favour of another, Alastor. I have the runic markings and the utter lack of shame, but who's to say that isn't what quetzalcoatls do naturally too? Our natural form is that, after all— this humanoid shape is more a remnant of self-image for the both of us. I think Loki does it on purpose to get me in the mood, not that it takes all that much."

"Ach, good thing Severus made you that birth control lozenge," Moody chuckled. "I heard he did it for your own good."

"Father looks further ahead than most do. Who knows what the natural cycle is for quetzalcoatls, you know? Maybe they are like cobras and raise fifty-some serpentlets at a time, but seven seems just fine for now."

"Seven is plenty mischief enough," Alastor agreed. "Merlin only knows what fifty serpentlet bites might've done to me."

"Made you _extremely_ virile."

Moody waved his hands. "Fertile enough, thank you, ma'am."

"They stole Idunn's apple tree right out from under her," Hermione said. "I can only imagine what fifty of them would do if they put their scheming little heads together." Hermione looked thoughtful. "I'm actually surprised I haven't gotten a visit from her, demanding her tree back. I'd say she's welcome to take one of the twenty or so in the orchard. _if_ she can find one that doesn't try to take her hand off when she picks it."

"New and improved, or so I hear," Moody muttered.

Hermione shrugged. "There is always a price for immortality. The original apples had to be eaten regularly and were tended by one goddess. These, you need but only one, not that they don't make a tasty snack on random Tuesdays. The price, however, seems to be different for each person. Jane, for example, sleeps a little more than the average human, tires easily after doing preternaturally great things, but she will live to be with Thor and her children, and that is what truly matters."

"And what if you or someone whose lifespan is already spanning the infinite eats one?"

"They taste wonderful, even on a Thursday," Hermione said with a wink. "The serpentlets love to share an apple between them and change colours for a few hours and sparkle."

Alastor snorted. "Okay then."

"Most of the trees in the orchard are from them planting the seeds to see if they would get something new. Once they got a pineapple tree. Once they got a Xythian tentacle bush."

"Do I even want to _know_?"

"Probably not. But, if you are craving bananas, there are about twelve different kinds in the orchard, including plantains. Asian pears of many sizes and varieties, plus dates, pomegranates, mangoes, coconuts, pretty much every variety of citrus there is and then some. Berry bushes and plants by the hundreds: strawberries, blackberries, blueberries, raspberries, gooseberries, boysenberries, huckleberries, loganberries, currants, acai berries, goji berries, mangosteens—you name it, we've got it."

"A nesting pair of phoenixes too?" Alastor chuckled.

"It was bound to happen eventually," Hermione sighed. "I really hope Dumbledore doesn't blame me for Fawkes running out on him."

"He's far too busy running the school, last I heard," Moody assured her. "Barely a peep out of him. "Knowing him, Fawkes got bloody well tired of swinging on that perch in his office all day and decided it was time to raise a family."

Hermione smiled. "Mjolnir apparently doesn't mind adding chick-sitting to his repertoire. That hammer is probably the most amazingly patient otherworldly babysitter in all the Realms, and no one ever bothered to ask Mjölnir what _he_ wanted in life. Smashing faces in is apparently only one part of a much greater unexplored skill set. You should see the booklets, seedlings, and un-kittens sulk whenever Thor has to take Mjölnir off to defend the Realm."

"Life is rough," Moody grinned at her.

"It's so hard here at the temple," Hermione laughed. A wayward phoenix chick popped its head out from Hermione's mane and peeped. She rubbed his head and soothed it, and it went back into her mane to hide.

"Nifflers and phoenix chicks as well as baby books in your massive mane?"

Hermione shrugged. "I'm a walking habitat. Don't forget the occasional venomous tentacula seedling, un-kitten, and whatever else happens to drop by for a visit. Harry tried to pet the daredevil un-kitten on Loki's shoulder and got bushwacked by a baby tentacula. I'm afraid he now thinks that they're all out to get him."

"Well, to be fair, they are," Moody observed.

"I'm pretty sure Mjölnir thinks Harry would make an awful parent."

" _ **I'm**_ pretty sure Harry would make an awful parent."

"Alastor!"

"Just saying, lass," Alastor replied, shrugging. "You have to want to be a good parent and be willing to work at it. You aren't born with all the— Okay, please let me rephrase. Unlike your serpentlets, you aren't _USUALLY_ born with all the information at your fingertips and just need a little tweaking here and there as well as a bit of hands-on personal experience."

"I have learned that having the pertinent knowledge is only the start of every great adventure, Alastor."

"Hmph. Gryffindor."

Hermione grinned broadly. "I was raised by a Slytherin."

"I'm surprised you didn't implode from the sheer contradictions alone."

Hermione huffed, but her eyes flickered with warmth. "More like you're surprised Severus didn't murder me in my sleep."

"That too," Alastor said with a wink.

"I'll have you know that she is far more Slytherin than any Gryffindor has a right to be," Severus said, wrinkling his nose as he said down beside his daughter. He pressed his forehead to hers, touching their markings together. "Thank you for making that floating bassinet for my mate," he said with no small amount of warmth. She had never had such a thing, and I think she's in love with it."

"Rest is important both for you and the baby," Hermione said with a smile. "I figured the rocking would help and the warming charm too. At least Jötunn babies, from what Ishea has told me, do not indulge in unusually early examples of Gryffindor stupidity."

Severus nodded. "And I am glad of it. Still, she sleeps well and so does Falkor, and I find that I have an appreciation for the rich Jötunn breast milk that keeps them adequately sustained for the entire night instead of only for a few hours, like a whiny Draco."

Hermione and Alastor laughed together. "That must have been… something."

"Something all right," Severus said with a shake of his head.

"Are you talking about me?" Draco asked, frowning as he sat down next to them, taking a really big swig of a highly-caffeinated beverage, making a point of not looking at the other tables and what _they_ happened to be eating.

"Not you currently," Hermione said rather vaguely.

Severus, not even bothering to deny it, said, "We were discussing your oddly Gryffindor proclivities as a child."

"I was _**NOT**_ Gryffindor as a child," Draco protested loudly.

"On the contrary, I have many, many memories of you attempting to crawl into the stone hearth and set yourself on fire, ripping up the portrait of your Great-Uncle Beauregard, running starkers around the tables during your mother's garden parties, plucking the feathers from Lucius' prized albino peacocks—"

" _ **What?!"**_ Draco spluttered.

"Your father, of course, was utterly mortified that such objectionable tendencies might stay with you for life, so he sent you for proper conditioning with a very strange wizard named Blatherscythe."

"You are making all of that up!"Draco accused his godfather, shaking his coffee mug at the dark-haired Jötunn potions master.

"I assure you, Draco, I am most definitely _not_ ," Severus replied smugly. "I considered Obliviating myself of all those memories, but then, I wouldn't have the opportunity to remind you of your own childhood peccadilloes when _your_ children start climbing the walls and setting the curtains and themselves on fire. I can then inform their poor mother that, sadly, it was all genetically predisposed because you are their father."

Draco glared blearily at him.

Severus arched a brow.

"I really hate you sometimes, Severus," Draco muttered darkly.

"Apparently there is quite a line."

Hermione leaned into her father. "I think the runed spear would probably deter most comers, if the increased size and changed skin colouring doesn't," she chuckled warmly. Hermione got a mischievious grin on her face. "You know father. You could always show them your other spear. I'm sure that would send them all into a fit as well."

"Daughter, are you recommending I show off my prowess in a duel?"

"Father, It's not like it was so strange a phenomenon for the Scots," Hermione noted.

Severus sniffed. "As accustomed as I have become to spontaneous acts on top of a well-placed sealskin, my dear daughter, I do not think that brandishing my admittedly impressive manhood would solve occasional threats upon my life."

Draco was blushing very, very red now and trying desperately to look in some direction that wasn't covered in a seal, acromantula, or some other random beast of the frost wastes.

"For someone who has become known as a wizard who delighted in shagging his girlfriend in public places, you are strange one to blush, Draco," Severus chided.

"That's different!"

"How?"

"You're _**old!**_ " Draco blurted.

Severus arched a brow.

"Boy," Laufey said with a rumble. "What is old when you measure your lifespan only in low long it takes the environment to outsmart you or your enemy's weapon?"

Draco paled. "That's not _**fair!**_ Severus wasn't a Jötunn but a year ago!" he protested.

"Hermione, love," Ishea purred as she came in with Falkor cradled in her arms. "Would you mind watching Falkor while I take the "old man" out for a walk?"

"Of course, Ishea," Hermione said with a grin, taking Falkor in her arms. She pressed her forehead to the baby's and smiled, wisps of her magic traveling along her markings and sharing her energy with Vali. Vali gurgled and smiled, settling the moment her skin touched his. Hermione, without any ado, tugged open her top and tucked Vali against the warmth of her skin, pulling the sling of sealskin around her head to make it more comfortable. Vali instantly silenced himself, cuddling into her warmth.

Severus reached over and kissed his baby son on the head and "allowed" himself to be dragged away by his mate— but not before Hermione dragged them both down by the ear and placed a lozenge on their tongues.

"Chew."

They did.

"Swallow," Hermione said suspiciously.

They swallowed.

"Good. Have fun, you two."

Ishea winked at her and pulled Severus by the robes.

"How is that even remotely fair?" Draco moaned pitifully. "My godfather is getting _way_ more skin than me."

Pop!

Pop!

Poppop!

Vidar, Natsu, Raina, and Itzel ported in and landed on the nearby table and hoisted up a large acromantula leg between them and carried over over to the table where their mother was. "Hi, Mummy! Share a leg with us?"

"Break it up for us?"

"Please?"

"Oh! You have Falkor!"

"He's so quiet!"

"Survival instinct, yes?"

"Indeed," Laufey said with a pleased smile. "The child must be quiet lest he frighten the game away. We prefer our children to be left in shelter, but that is not always possible."

"Aww," Raina cooed. She pressed her head to the baby's. Each of the serpentlets did the same in turn, greeting their baby uncle as another Jötunn child would.

Hermione broke the Acromantula leg into several manageable pieces, smiling as her hungry serpentlets made quick but noisy work out of crunching the pieces up until they were almost gone.

Draco looked a little green.

Natsu raised her eyes to look at Draco. "Oh, how rude of us!"

"Oh! You're right!"

"Let's not be rude!"

Vidar broke off a chunk of Acromantula leg and pounced on Draco, holding it up in his face. "We didn't want to be rude, so we saved you some food!"

Draco opened his mouth to protest, but Vidar took it as an invitation and shoved the chuck of Acromantula leg into his waiting mouth. Vidar stared at him, extending his tail to work Draco's mouth up and down. "Chewwwwww," he directed. "Swaaaaallllow."

Draco's face twisted in clear distress, but he did as he was told, valiantly attempting to not remember what he was eating.

But as this throat muscles worked, his grey eyes widened in complete surprise. He gasped. "Merlin, that tastes like—like, like spicy tuna roll!"

The serpentlets shook their heads sadly at him. "You _really_ need to get out more, Uncle Draco."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The irony here is that the serpentlets, barely over a year old, are the ones telling Draco that he needs to get out more.
> 
> Heh. Heh. Heh.


	6. Winds of Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I blame—Draco. It's all his fault this time because… utterly random reasons.
> 
> Beta Love: The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01, Commander Shepard

**Mischief Managed**

**Chapter 6**

**Winds of Change**

_The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life. - Richard Bach_

"She wants _**what?**_ " Theo asked, his ruby eyes wide in astonishment.

"Fortescue's rosewater-pistachio ice cream, Bertie Bott's beans and jelly slugs from Honeydukes, and Rosmerta's minted lamb pasties from the Three Broomsticks," Eirik moaned. "I have _**no**_ idea what she is talking about!"

"That's a very specific list," Theo commented, shaking his head.

"She also wanted prawn paste basted seal skewers in habanero-lime sauce and chilli-dipped ice jellyfish. Now that I could handle," Eirik sighed. "The carrot soup with ginger and curry Lady Minerva graciously helped me with. The Punjabi egg rolls Severus helped me with. The salmon eggs Alastor helped me with. She craves the strangest things! Alone, the salmon eggs seemed fine, but she wanted them basted in honey butter and mixed with nori and sesame seeds!"

Harry rubbed his temples. "Luna has always enjoyed odd foods, even when she wasn't pregnant and, uh, well, before she became Jötunn."

Eirik slumped. "What shall I do?"

"I'll get the ice cream, beans, jelly slugs, and lamb pasties," Harry offered. "I think it's probably best that Draco not have to deliver food to a pregnant Luna."

Eirik sighed in relief. "Thank you, friend Harry."

Harry smiled, then went a little green. "Just don't make me stick around and watch her eat it all together, okay?"

Eirik chuckled. "Okay."

* * *

Summertime came and went, and with the season's exit, the sharp increase in births was viewed as somewhat less exotic and soon came to be seen as the new normal. Fall brought with it the usual surge of centaur foals frolicking about in the leaves and getting into all kinds of mischief due to the large harvests and ample food supply— more than they had ever known before the appearance and reign of the quetzalcoatls.

By the time winter came around, everyone was ready and none more so than the Jötunn, who always looked forward to the colder seasons and the end of the "strange infestation of greenery" that they had gamely attempted to get used to. They finally _had_ accustomed themselves to it, if only because the egg-shard pendants allowed them to avoid sweating themselves into oblivion. And as each Jötunn seemed to realise what a blessing that was, even more spontaneous offerings of faith fed the temple quetzalcoatls. That, of course, fed the hyperactive and overly-helpful serpentlets, and, well, that always let to _further_ interesting events.

The serpentlets had their snouts fully into about two hundred-some new matchmaking events, many of which involved Jötunn, but some alien, some centaur, and even a few goblins made it into the mix. Humans were thrown in liberally like homegrown herbs, with a dash of Asgardian spice for even more added flavour. Strangely, the serpentlets didn't seem all that keen on matching up superhuman pairings, but their exposure to those sorts _had_ been severely limited due to the level of sheer chaos they tended to bring along every single time even one of them visited— the last being a particularly annoying States-based paramilitary group that wanted to take out the visiting aliens that were a potential "danger to humanity."

That hadn't gone over well. Not at _all_.

The alien faithful had been royally pissed off. The temple visitors had been ready to bring nuclear armageddon down upon them. One alien race had wanted to eat the brains of the S.H.I.E.L.D infidels, reasoning that if they weren't using them, then why shouldn't their people get to nosh on them? Someone had managed to brass off an entire litter of feisty, tentacled panther-creatures from some exceedingly distant jungle planet, and the their equally brassed-off parents had tried to feed some super-humanoid agent to their cubs for the annoyance alone.

Oh, and then there were the _really_ annoyed goblins who didn't exactly appreciate S.H.I.E.L.D. just breaking through the ceiling of the caverns with a giant airship and barging into the temple without bothering with such niceties as announcing themselves, never mind not having been invited to visit in the first place.

Jane, having more than had it with random people dropping in uninvited on teatime, naptime, booklet sitting, kitten grooming, or singing to the tentacula seedings (which they really appreciated), picked up Mjölnir (after tenderly tucking her babies into their bassinet) and proceeded to smash in faces until it stopped amusing her.

It _hadn't_ stopped amusing her.

The serpentlets were starting to take bets on how many of those very rude humans would end up regrowing multiple bones in the infirmary and if it would even _work_ just as Mjölnir took out some particularly obnoxious bloke with an eyepatch and sent him careening off the edge of the temple island. A large detail of bodies went shooting after him shortly after— but how well they fared was still up for debate.

The serpentlets had cuddled up to Jane for the rest of the evening, along with every single un-kitten, tentacula seedling, booklet, and last, but not least, her own children— and Mjölnir himself, who seemed quite content to sit beside her and share the babysitting duties.

S.H.I.E.L.D., their members having crawled their way back up from the very bowels of the vaults, their bodies covered in seriously nasty wounds from the various dragons that protected the lower vault areas, took one look at Jane calmly drinking her frosty coconut beverage and eating a very large Acromantula leg with nothing but her hands and face, very wisely (and quite meekly) got back into their airship and left.

"You didn't tell me your Jane was a warrior!" Hogun laughed, clapping Thor companionably on the back.

"She's _**not!**_ Er… well, she wasn't! I mean— oh, nevermind," Thor said with a sigh.

They had received a rather humble letter correspondence via the shiniest polished metal scroll tube anyone had ever seen— by Niffler, along with the fountain pen, chewing gum, coins, keys to various things and or places, and an identification wallet belonging to someone named 'Nick Fury', a driver's license, several debit cards, a few platinum VISAs, and no few sets of U.S. government ID. Oops.

The letter, at least, apologised for the unfortunate misunderstanding, stating that they had an informant come to them and explain in precise detail exactly where they could to go to find _real_ dangerous alien invaders. When it became clear that the "crazy woman with the hammer" wasn't actually trying to kill them so much as defend her family and the temple grounds, they had tried to withdraw, but some of the squads had taken it upon themselves to play deaf to the orders they were given and chose to attack anyway. Then, when Fury himself had tried to come up and explain, well, he'd taken a swift hammer to the face by a very protective Jane.

He promised that he was going to take care of the situation in-house, but somehow a few of the parties involved had sprouted fur and fangs, devolved into strange book-like creatures, and sported the titles: _Military Arrogance: How NOT to Make Allies and Influence People._ Apparently those afflicted had been locked up together in a maximum security reinforced cell to prevent the entire organization from being attacked by uber-violent book-things.

Hermione and Loki had both been more than amused by that particular development.

Jane, after that particular battle, had slept for about a month with the serpentlets helping guide the babies to her breasts to allow them to nurse while she slept, insuring that more than adequate nutrition had been achieved. Thor could only boggle at how great it was to be alive, happy and have such a high-functioning family, even if the serpentlets occasionally chewed up some Acromantula or frost-seal and then mouth-fed the growing babies from time to time.

The babies really seemed to like it, so who was Thor to argue?

Vidar, of course, never strayed too far from Minerva, and so by definition was never far from baby Vali either. The same was the case with Geir and Ishea and baby Falkor. But the two were not in need of a great deal of tending, Jötunn infants having the instinctive need to settle, remain silent and allow whoever they were with to hunt successfully. As long as they stayed nestled close to the skin, Jötunn babies were perfectly happy to remain ever calm and quiet.

There were a great many humans and aliens alike who envied the Jötunn that particular genetic gift. Even Frigga, the ever-patient goddess herself, had privately admitted that there had been quite a few times that she had wished that it could be so easy to settle Thor and Loki, particularly during their more terrible tantrums. So far, at least, the twins were behaving like typical Asgardian babies, sleeping and eating their way through the first decade of life, though Jane _did_ wonder how or when the serpentlets had introduced the babies to their odd pacifier of choice: a link of smoked Slovenian sausage from some place called Raddell's. Thor blamed it on Volstagg, but the red-bearded warrior just gave him that look that said "Not me!"

Volstagg's wife, Hildegund, managed to gain permission to join Volstagg down on Miðgarðr, and while her first attempts at socialising with the Jötunn had been rocky at best, the little feathered instigators wriggled their way into her heart and opened it to the Jötunn with surprising ease, especially when she realised that their much-beloved Prince Loki had been Jötunn all along.

True to Volstagg's boasting, Hildegund could take shoe leather and make it taste like prime rib, and she even managed to improve on what was already considered tasty by whipping up a chilli-garlic sauce that had two parts known and one part mystery in the mixture that had even Hermione and Severus mulling over what ingredients she had added to make it seem so much more potent. In fact, it was her cooking that finally broke down the barriers between the Asgardian female and her former-enemies. She realised that they had a true appreciation for good food (and were not, in fact, heathens) and they realised that she had a talent for preparing food that went beyond ridiculous cultural borders.

Volstagg breathed a sigh of relief, and so did Hogun and Fandral, who were almost to the point of punting the bemoaning Volstagg out of their quarters for complaining about missing his wife's cooking so much.

Of course, hungry serpentlets were always ready to help test the food, and Hildegund was not immune to their charms, even if she was a little embarrassed by how very blunt they were about— well, everything, not to mention the first time they snuggled up to her and asked her how she liked to have sex with Volstagg and if it involved singing and dancing like mum and dad, bellowing like Ambassador Bulvoki'rit and using various strange and peculiar decorations for his phallus, or getting rip-roaringly drunk and then all gross and slobbery like the infamous Mr Black. Did Volstagg have two like Ambassador Gividouer, or just one like their human friends? Tentacles perhaps? Reproduction via budding? The ever-curious serpentlets wanted to _know_.

At that point, Severus saved Hildegund from her blushing madly streak by plucking the serpentlets up and carrying them off "to learn potions."

Hildegund sent Severus and Ishea a very large platter of deviled Acromantula legs in thanks for his timely intervention. No one was complaining about that, least of all Severus. And Ishea most _definitely_ wasn't. Hildegund started a cooking group, and most of her new "students" were eager Jötunn females and a handful of aliens, who brought random native foods from their respective homelands to the class and tinkered with all the new recipes. Sometimes Hermione would pop in and learn a thing or two, filtering the information off to her father in a sneaky, roundabout Slytherin manner.

Life was good for those living in the heart of the goblin nation. The temple grounds and the various sixty-odd islands had become something far greater than merely a respectable place to live, and many people from widely varied cultures were coming to find it had grown very close to their hearts. The goblins had become far less irritated by magical Britain in general simply by knowing that they had it very good where it mattered: at home. Britain could sequester them away, refuse to permit them wands, and other such rot, but the goblins were the ones with the quetzalcoatl family under their roof, and no one could say the quetzalcoatls were there under duress in any way, shape, or form.

Well, some people had tried to make that particular accusation, one of them being the perpetually ladder-climbing Percy Weasley under some political pot-stirring knob calling himself Dungus Greasebourne. The rule number one in political pot-stirring and social climbing, apparently unknown to Percy and Dungus, was when going after resident gods, Asgardian or otherwise, whatever you have in mind, do make sure not to go about it with a name that pegs you as a rampaging, gormless, ninnyhammer.

Alas, when Aurors barged into Percy Weasley's office looking for one Dungus Greasebourne, they caught Percy beating the everliving shite out of a grey-furred, yellow-eyed, blunt toothed, slavering book entitled: _Political Corruption and Hypocrisy: the Greasebourne Family Business_

Percy retired from the Ministry of Magic shortly after, swearing to anyone who would listen that he never wanted be around parchment or books ever again, and so he promptly moved to the wilds of Romania to work with one of his elder brothers, Charlie, on a remote dragon preserve as a dragon-apprentice along with Rubeus Hagrid. Rumour had it the epic fights between Percy and Rubeus were so heated that even the dragons respected them. If there was any truth to that, however, neither man was saying.

To celebrate the end of the harvest season and the long-awaited coming of winter, Hermione took the Jötunn and the serpentlets to a remote alpine region in Siberia that was days out from any Muggle villagers, tourists, S.H.I.E.L.D., magical lunatics, yeti-hunters, or random camera teams attempting to chase down Bigfoot, snow leopards, or Siberian tigers. The Jötunn had a celebration when they realised that the region seemed awfully similar to Jötunheimr when it came to freezing cold, ice and snow. The hunting was different, but after being used to danger coming from all sides, nothing Siberia had was really all that different to the Jötunn. When Björnar pulled out a five meter-long catfish out of an ice pond, everyone seemed to agree that the place was a lot like Jötunheimr, after all. After taking just enough to feed the group, they offered the rest to the Great Frost Mother, thanking her for her bounty wherever they might travel. By morning, the entire carcass was gone— not a bone or whisker to be found.

The serpentlets discovered the joy and wonder of powdery snow so deep that the Jötunn considered going their normal size, but they decided to instead enjoy the frigid arctic weather on its own terms. Alastor taught the serpentlets all about sledding, and they eagerly took to it after Laufey carved them sleds out of the ice and sent them happily zooming down the hills in their homemade toboggans.

The younger hunters were eager to do some hunting of their own, and Hermione's only request was that they not hunt any of the endangered species that she knew of— animals that had been hunted so much that the very sight of them was considered a great honour. That, all the hunters understood well, and they promised Hermione that they would not hunt those things that their adopted home was struggling to retain.

That evening, the hunters brought back a large moose together, saying it was better to go on a great hunt as a team in a new place, so that it did not unduly tax the environment that supported them. Again, they carved enough out for themselves and their fellows, making sure the serpentlets had plenty to eat as well as Hermione and Loki, all of which accepted the offering quite graciously, and then left the rest with a prayer to the Great Frost Mother to thank her for her continued generosity and ask her for her blessing that they might continue hunting in this place that was different, yet so much like home.

The next morning, the carcass was gone, the only thing left was the hide, which had been defleshed so pristinely that not a bit of muscle or fat remained— the hide completely tanned and supple. Laufey saw it for the favourable sign that it was, and he gave the hide to the youngest hunter in the group, telling him that the Great Frost Mother had given them their blessing, and he was giving the hide to their family to both shelter and protect their newest arrival that had been birthed in the very snows of Siberia.

Ronan and his mate, Valda, accepted the hide with great honour, wrapping his mate and child snugly with the thick moose hide, and gave his most ardent prayer to the Great Frost Mother, and much to Loki and Hermione's surprise, to them as well— the swell of his family's great faith giving them a meal that made the serpentlets drowsy with the sheer size and quality of the faith-meal.

With respectful hands, Valda and Ronan tied a small carved bone-charm into their manes as they thanked them for the newfound peace that had allowed them to be there in the first place. Minerva, with Vali tucked against her warm breast, gave her husband-king a meaningful look, and Laufey tucked her close to his side, pressing his face into her long hair with a content smile.

Meanwhile, on the hill, the serpentlets had exchanged ice-carved toboggans for human ones, deciding that Harry and Draco made most excellent substitutes. They pounced the two of them from every snow drift. They tackled them from behind every bit of cover, and they used them both as living sleds down the hillside. Harry and Draco seemed to take it all in stride, finding a special kind of peace with the serpentlets that most of their "victims" did, one way or another, only for the two wizards, it seemed they were finally stepping up in the full-contact all-in handling of the serpentlets that they hadn't quite been able to do before.

Harry seemed much more at ease with the hunting and the resulting carcasses, once he saw for himself just how much respect the hunters put into it. No longer separated from the cycle that brought the food to the table and how much work each person put into not only the hunt itself, but the preparation, preservation, and use of almost everything as well as how incredibly exhausting it was to do so— Harry finally was able to assist and take part in the meals without feeling like the square wheel. He even built a magically-warmed travelling bassinet for Jane's twins to relieve her of having to struggle with keeping the two warm as they went from camp to camp and assisted Valda by enchanting her moose-hide so it would stick wherever she placed it, even in the harshest of winds. Thor and Loki exchanged meaningful glances, pleased to finally see a more hands-on, mature change in Harry.

* * *

"Hey, Uncle Harry," Natsu greeted cheerfully, her head bobbing up and down as her gold-tipped tail swished back and forth. Her sky-blue eyes peered into his as he worked on his most recent project. "Whatcha up to?" She rubbed her pale gold belly scales against his arm as she curled around it, effectively halting all work until her question was answered.

Harry rubbed her chin with his hand, smiling.

The serpentlet nibbled his fingers affectionately.

"Trying to polish an old heirloom by hand," Harry replied.

"Why?"

"It was my mum's, when she was in school," Harry explained.

"Was it important?"

"To her, yes."

Natsu peered at it curiously. "Shoes?"

"Sandals."

"They're pretty," Natsu said, bobbing her head again. "Broken?"

Harry nodded. "An old friend of my parents visited today. He and his wife, Nymphadora, are living in Australia. These were my mother's, she wore them the day she got married. She tripped shortly after, and broke them. Remus held onto them for sentimental value."

"Nice of him," Natsu observed.

Harry nodded with a smile.

"Why are you fixing them without magic?"

Harry made a face. "I don't know. I think— I think I want to connect to my mum in the happiest moment of her life rather than remember her death."

SqueeeeFLOP.

A pink book landed on Harry's lap and squeaked a greeting. It was Pitch, her pink fur making her a distinctive blotch of bright colour in his lap. She eyed the sandals and purred, snuggling up to them as a bright red heart formed on her cover. She rubbed up against them as golden letters flowed across her spine: _The Seductive Allure of Sexy Sandals_.

Harry couldn't hold back his laugh as he watched the pink book love all over his mum's sandals. He blinked. Was that?

As the frothy book paste soaked into the sandals, they mended back into mint condition, save for a little bit of frothy book paste.

Harry's face softened, and he hugged the book tightly, pressing his face into the fluffy pink fur. Pitch purred happily, distracted from loving on the objects of her affection for Harry instead. A soft pastel heart formed on her cover as her title shifted into: Friendship is Magic.

"You could dream of her," Natsu said, her golden tail swishing patterns in the air. Cosmic plasma danced around her scales and feathers. She poked the sandals with her nose. "The memories are in there."

Harry's eyes widened. "Really?"

Natsu nodded. "Mum and dad could just give you a vision, but I haven't figured out how to do that yet." The serpentlet hung her head.

Harry stroked her mane of feathers. "It's ok. I love that you're willing to try."

Natsu perked up. "Really?"

Harry smiled at her. "Really."

Natsu lay her head on Harry's nose, tongue flicking. Her feathered mane started to stand up, framing her head in a shaggy ball of multiple colours. Cosmic energy hummed around her as she rocked back and forth like a cobra following a flute. Her mouth opened, fangs glinting, and she mock struck, bobbed and swayed, struck again, and did her best to dance like she'd seen her parents do. She faltered, hesitating, but Harry put his hands on her scales and smiled warmly. His belief in her sparkled in his eyes, and that faith swirled around the little quetzalcoatl with a visible rainbow of energy ribbons.

"Hnnnnnnn," Hermione's voice sang through the Ether.

"Nnnnnnnh," Loki's reply joined her.

The faith of Harry's belief focused and fed the miniature quetzalcoatl until she was brimming with power. Her feathers shone like sun reflectors.

"Nnnnaaaaaa!" the little serpentlet attempted the song, her voice trembling, but gaining confidence.

"Hnnnnn," Hermione's voice built the platform.

"Nnnnnh," Loki's song wove around the song of his mate's.

Yet, there was something missing, as if they were leaving out some key thing on purpose.

Natsu's voice sang through the Ether, joining her parent's with her own clarion declaration. Her voice filled in the web her parents had left open, allowing their child to stretch herself to the limits of her need and built what she dreamed of on a foundation that would not fail her.

Harry fell back on the couch with a wondrous sigh, his mind filled with such beauty of this small serpentlet with an even bigger heart. He felt his heart swell with love for her as his eyes closed, and he fell deep, deep, deep into the past memory of his parent's marriage.

Pitch purred and curled up on Harry's chest next to Natsu and the pair of sandals, content to have all the things she could ever want all at once.

* * *

"Welcome to my own little piece of paradise, kitten," Sirius said as he bowed slightly to let the younger witch in.

"Wow, It's _way_ bigger than it looks from the outside!" she said with a little awe.

"Would you like a drink, kitten?"

"Do you have real elf-made wine?" the younger witch asked, sitting down.

"You sure you don't want Firewhisky?" Sirius asked.

"Oh no! I couldn't," the witch replied.

"Elf-made wine it is then," Sirius said, slurring his words slightly.

"Are your relatives actors?" she asked as she stared at the moving photographs over the mantle. She eyed the photo of Harry, Draco, and Theo making faces at the camera. Her eyes grew very wide as she noticed Theo's very blue skin and the fact that he was hardly wearing anything at all, his hand gripping a rune-covered spear. Behind them was a "jungle forest scene" complete with ancient temple. "This is a really realistic painting. It looks almost like a photograph. Are you into fantasy art, Sirius?"

"More like life art, kitten," he replied, clinking glasses and bottles behind the bar.

She sat down on the comfy arm chair, brows furrowed.

"Rrrr?"

She turned to see a pink book eyeing her curiously.

"Oh! Hello, what's your name?"

The pink book blinked at her as a gold question mark formed on her cover. Golden letters flowed across her spine and cover: _Unexpected Guests After Visiting Hours._

She held out her hand. "Do you wish to make friends?"

Pitch hopped over, and the young witch gently stroked her fluffy pink fur. "Oh! How wonderful."

Pitch purred, rubbing against her hand.

Sirius, hands full of drinks, belatedly realised that his godson was conked out on his love-couch with the forbidden serpentlet, and prodded him with his foot. "Hey! Harry! Take the baby home, yeah? We have guests."

"Hnngh?" Harry hugged the serpentlet tighter, still deeply asleep.

"Oi!" Sirius grunted, poking him a little harder with his boot.

"Oh! I don't want to be any trouble!" The young witch said, giving the book an affectionate pat. She stood up. "I had a great time, but I should probably get going."

"Oh don't leave, kitten," Sirius pouted. "I think Harry just forgot that this was _our_ evening tonight."

He prodded Harry with his boot again, harder.

"Rrrrr!"

Pitch bounced across Harry's leg and put herself in front of Sirius' prodding foot. "RrrrRrRrrrr!"

"Oh for fuck's sake," Sirius growled at the book. He pried the book off Harry's body and moved it over.

Pitch glared at him and chomped his boot, foaming and getting book paste all over it. The title on the book changed into: _Do Not Disturb. Sleeping is Golden._

"Oh, please don't worry, we can always meet again—" the young witch said rather nervously.

Sirius, however, in his inebriated state, seemed to check his sense at the door. He flicked his boot so hard that both the boot and the book went flying into the far wall with a loud _**THUMP**_.

The pink book teetered awkwardly, shook herself off, and then growled, fur standing on end. Her spine and cover text changed to dark red and transformed into _: A Thousand and One Papercuts: A Manual on Magical Neutering._

The book's pages rustled, transforming into multiple rows of shark-like teeth. Book paste dripped from its "fangs" and it threw itself at Sirius' exposed and unbooted foot, sinking its hardened paper teeth deep into his sock.

Sirius went tumbling backwards, the two drinks flying off into different directions. One went into the fireplace, causing a flare of flames, and the other smacked Harry in face, causing him to leap straight up in the air as the startled baby serpentlet shot to the ceiling, clinging to the chandelier.

" _ **Mummyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!"**_ Natsu cried out in fright, radiating extreme distress and cosmic plasma in a bright green flood.

The air became thick as the odour of ozone filled the room. The temperature rapidly dropped by tens until the air became white with their breath.

Hnnnnnnnnnn.

Nnnnnnnnnnh.

Two figures stepped out of the hearth without the usual green flames to herald their arrival. One with a thick mane of wavy black hair and glowing crimson eyes, wreathed in a crackling energy that seemed to bleed out the edges, and one with a mane of brunette curls and multi-coloured feathers. Her eyes blazed golden, flickering from a rich honey to the brightness of the sun. Magic hung heavily upon them.

The moment they stepped through, Natsu dropped upon them, flinging herself into her mum's embrace. " _ **Mummy!"**_ she cried, wrapping herself around her mother's neck like a choking scarf.

Loki's crimson eyes blazed, flicking from the couch where Harry was nursing a knot on his head that was nearly the size of a quaffle, to the nameless young witch whose eyes were as wide as saucers to a stunned-looking Sirius, who was flat on his back with an angry pink book gnawing on his foot.

"Sirius Black," Hermione's voice said, cutting through the air like a hot knife through butter.

"Why is it _always_ you?" Loki finished the question, his lip curling upward in disgust.

"Pitch," Hermione said, kneeling down. "Come."

The pink book spat out a mouthful of paste and the remains of Sirius' sock, and bounced over to Hermione, hopping into her hand obediently. She stood, cradling the book in the crook of her arm.

Loki put out his hand, and Hermione placed hers in it immediately. There was a nova of heated magic that filled the room. Loki caught the young witch as she fainted, his long, pale fingers brushing over her face like the long legs of a spider. "I think it best you remember a wonderful evening spent with friends and that you wake having had the best night of your life. Home— with a wonderfully irrational fear of tall, dark-haired wizards that smell of wet dog."

His eyes closed, a red flash of magic gleamed under the lids, and the witch disappeared from his arms completely as if she hadn't ever been there at all.

"We have warned you." Loki's rumbling voice was like the movement of the great seawolf whale under the ice of Jötunheimr.

"Warned you," Hermione chimed, her voice like the crackling movement of ice over the water.

"To watch yourself."

"Around our children."

"Our children."

"For your transgressions."

"Many upon many."

"May your scent forever herald your arrival"

"Long before you do."

Their voices overlapped and wove together as one.

"May your masculine treasure—"

"Reflect your true self."

"Until the skies burn."

"Until Ragnarök."

"Or until you find true humility."

"Whichever."

"Comes first."

"Sirius Black."

"Of the House of Black."

"The Ancient."

"Noble."

"House of Black."

"This is your doing."

"Your curse."

"Of your own making."

"And only you."

"Only you."

"Can bring about its end."

Their bodies shimmered brightly, and they looked as they were going to say something more, but Sirius Black was no longer listening. He was completely unconscious, having passed out cold on the floor of the House of Black.

Loki turned to his daughter. "No more visits to Grimmauld Place, my dear daughter."

The serpentlet hung her head. "I'm sorry, daddy."

Hermione soothed her head. "It is not your fault, my love." She turned her head to Harry. "Harry, I think it's time you came to live with us."

"You mean it?!" Natsu cried excitedly.

"Does your mother ever say what she does not mean?"

Natsu did a joyful loop-de-loop in the air and then hugged both her mum and dad's necks together. "Yay!"

Harry, still rubbing his aching head, said, "What?"

"Take my hand, Harry Potter."

Harry blearily placed his hand in Hermione's.

FWOOOMP.

They were gone.

* * *

"What an idiot," Theo said, shaking his head as he wrapped new leather around his spear shaft.

Harry sighed, rubbing his head, which still had a goose egg the size of a quaffle. "He's not always bad, the drinking makes him think he's young again, I think."

"Young should not be synonymous with stupid," Theo said with a sniff.

Harry slumped. "Remus said the same, when I owled him. He sent me a Patronus this morning after being summoned from a frantic Patronus this morning. Harry's face flushed. "Apparently, erm—"

Theo poked Harry with the dull end of his spear. "Spill it, Potter."

"He smells like wet dog mixed with skunk, and he has a tiny pink-covered miniature poodle dick."

Theo blinked and then busted out laughing hysterically, falling over onto the ground and rolling around, cackling all the way.

"It's not funny!" Harry blurted, but he was already laughing, snorting into his hand as Pitch bounced up and down in his lap. The lettering on her cover spelled out: _Justice._

"You know, when Remus left to live with Tonks, he seemed so relieved. I thought it was because he'd get to live life without the war, yeah? But— I'm starting to think that even though they were friends growing up, Remus grew up and Sirius— Sirius never really had the chance having been in Azkaban and all."

"Quite possible," Theo said, catching his breath as Pitch bounced into his lap and begged for pets. "Azkaban doesn't really reach prisoners to reform. It preserves them as they are, just as evil as they went in, and the Dementors— They feed off everything happy. What does that leave you with?"

"Sirius said that all he could focus on was the death of his best mate— his face," Harry said. "I think that's why he always thought I was him. And the older I became the more I looked like my dad and the more he ended up thinking it was back then."

"Azkaban messes you up for sure," Theo agreed. "I can't say I can blame him for being fucked up."

A multi-coloured sock stuffed itself into Theo's mouth, and he struggled to pry it out. "Ugh, dam—"

Theo glared at Harry, and Harry waved his hands around. "Wasn't me!"

"Anyway, I think if you go in innocent, it breaks you," Theo said. "But Sirius— I think he had things he was guilty about but could never face. He may have been innocent of the murder he was accused of, but he had guilt under that bravado, and that's the kind of thing Dementors love to torture you with. Unfortunately, he came out of Azkaban with even more denial than he went in. Not that he doesn't care about you, Harry."

"He's just messed up about it," Harry said.

"Yeah," Theo agreed.

"I saw what Sirius did to Severus," Harry said. "My dad too. I denied it for years. Blamed it on being a constructed lie. It was only Hermione— the trust she had for him. Her indignation whenever I blamed him for anything. I finally saw him as a person. I'm just glad—" Harry looked out over the temple grounds, smiling. "I'm just glad I figured it out before we graduated, yeah?"

"You're a better person when you aren't accusing all Slytherin as being murderers," Theo admitted, giving him a wink.

"Psh," Harry scoffed. "My fault really. I let Ron tell me that Slytherins were evil. The first day I was at Hogwarts, Hagrid said there wasn't one wizard gone bad that wasn't from Slytherin. After Wormtail, you'd think I'd have figured that was bunk, but—"

"We all have things we have a hard time letting go of," Theo said. "When Severus adopted Hermione and told us all that if we even thought something bad about her he'd make sure he was 1 second late to shielding us from our own potion explosions, we all had to make adjustments. It took a while, but— Hermione is way more Slytherin than she is Gryffindor. She's cunning. She just has that obnoxious bit of bravery thrown in."

Harry snorted. "It is not obnoxious."

"Oh it is, trust me there," Theo ribbed. He tilted his head, thoughtful. "Hermione lost her parents back when I just realised my dad was a monster. I think that was why we bonded so well. I'd just learned I couldn't trust my own dad, so maybe there was more to Hermione Snape than everyone wanted me to believe. I think we were all deceived, really. We all had prejudices. Hell, Blaise took longer than any of us to get his head out of his arse with his won't even breathe the same air as some dirty Mudblood business."

"What changed his mind?"

Theo's lips curved into a cruel smile.

"Come on, don't leave me hanging now!" Harry protested.

Theo crossed his arms.

Harry pouted and then seemed to get an idea. He took Pitch and sicced her onto Theo's neck, causing the Jötunn to bowl over backwards, spear in one hand, Pitch in the other, giggling hysterically as her fur tickled him and she got book paste all over him.

"Arrrhhh! I relent!" Theo moaned.

"Spill it, mate."

Theo pried the book off his neck and set her in his lap, petting her to placate her.

"You know that day that Crabbe and Goyle turned the entire Potions class into cute, fuzzy animals?"

"How could I forget that."

"Remember what Blaise turned into?"

Harry pondered. "I don't even remember him being, oh I guess he was. No I don't remember at all!"

"Hermione smuggled him out between her otter teeth into another classroom where she made the antidote as an otter," Theo said with a chuckle. "Severus, of course, knew exactly what she was up to, came in, checked the potion, and left. Didn't even bat an eye. She took the antidote first so Blaise wouldn't freak out, gave him the dose, and then they both came in with the antidote for the rest of the class. No one had to realise that Blaise had been running around as a baby quail."

Theo grinned. "He was so fluffy!"

Harry busted out laughing. "That's so Hermione… brewing something as an otter and not even batting an eyelash."

"She's a Snape," Theo said. "I think that was when most of the blowhards in Slytherin finally realised she thought of us as people and respected our honour, yeah? Even if we didn't respect hers. That changed after that. Blaise said if he caught anyone talking bad about Hermione Snape, he'd curse their bits."

Harry instinctively covered his privates.

"Yeah, he'd do it too," Theo replied with a grin.

Purrr. Purrr. PuuurrRrrrRRRrr.

Pitch straddled both of their laps with a happy purr.

Harry looked thoughtful. "Ever wonder what it would be like if—"

"Often," Theo said. "Makes me glad things happened as they did."

"He's still out there," Harry said with a frown. "You Know Who."

Theo frowned. "I will admit that it is hard to remember the Dark Lord when you are building your life around living gods," he said grimly, his fingers tightening a round his spear. "I think— faith has given us a reprieve from the ravages of war. The more we believe, the better life seems to get. For real. For us. He's out there, but his evil—"

Theo gripped Harry's shoulder. "The biggest truth we knew was that the Dark Mark was forever. That darkness was something that could never be rid of. It would stain your soul forever because he was forever."

Theo's now-crimson eyes glowed softly. "Raina banished the Mark from Severus' arm. It is not faded or doomed to come back. It is well and truly gone. It is faith in something true, something pure that allowed this. It is something foreign to him. Love. He scoffs at it because he doesn't understand it, but he also fears it for the same reason. Maybe he's plotting— mustering up others like Lucius to finish his task for him. Maybe he already has, which is why we haven't seen them. Perhaps they have already failed— but those living here, those touched by what lives here, will fight to the very end to keep it, and that is a powerful thing to have."

Harry smiled weakly. "How did you get so knowing, Theo?"

"Psh, I've always been in the know, Potter." The Jötunn winked, but he patted Harry with a smile. "It also helps to be around gods of knowledge and learning."

A hoard of baby booklets and tentacula seedlings chased each other down the temple steps in front of them with Mjölnir, dragging the hammer with them.

Harry's lips tugged, twitching. "Don't forget mischief and thunder."

Theo grinned. "How could any of us forget?"

Pitch hopped out of their laps to chase after her friends, making adorable squeaking noises with each bounce.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose.

* * *

"You, goblin," Voldemort hissed an echo of the serpent beside him. "Take me to the safest place in all of Gringott's."

The goblin teetered back and forth, swaying while under the influence. He said nothing, but he opened the cart door and stepped into it, waiting.

"My Lord," Bellatrix hissed, "it could be a trap!"

"Silence, Bellatrix," Voldemort growled.

The curly-haired witch chewed on the end of her wand, having learned her lesson in questioning her Lord's stashing of things in her family vault by having a nice, personal, family-like Crucio session as various multiplying goblets tried to bury her alive as she writhed on the floor.

"You will take us to the safest place in all Gringott's," Voldemort repeated, and the goblin closed the door as the cart began to move them even deeper into the vault system than even the LeStrange vault. They passed multiple dragons that tried to flame them as they went, but the dragons never left "their" patch of vault.

The cart stopped, and they got out, only to realised they were being led further down, down through passages that twisted and turned and led to—

"Guhh!" Bellatrix said. Even she had to stop and wonder at the sight of the floating islands. Sun and wind came in from above, seemingly by magic. The blazing brightness made it hard to tell if it was being conjured or if the sun was truly coming from outside.

"Dirty goblins keeping this secret from us!" Bellatrix said, sticking her wand into the goblin's throat.

The goblin, however, simply swayed back and forth, his teeth half-bared in an almost grimace.

"How do we get there?" Bellatrix hissed, poking the goblin in the middle of the forehead with her wand.

The goblin said something in Gobbledegook, causing Bellatrix to scowl. She glowered, looking as though she were going to slap the goblin, but he pointed a hand toward the dock where a boat sat in the air as it would have on water.

Voldemort pointed his wand at the gobin. "You will take us there safely."

* * *

"Nnngh!" Harry hissed, rubbing his forehead.

"Something wrong, Uncle Harry?" The serpentlets wriggled up against him as he lay in his new home.

"The scar," Harry said. "It's burning again."

"Scars burn?" Itzel asked, sticking her nose closer to Harry's forehead.

"I thought you burned to get scars," Yoki said, her rainbow tail swishing back and forth like a plume.

Naseem peered at the scar with one golden eye, the leafy flecks moving across the surface of his eye as he stared. He beat his honey-coloured wings and examined the scar closer.

The other serpentlets yawned sleepily, opening one eye as they yawned, showing their teeth like a lion as their forked tongues lolled. All of them had decided to pile up on Harry and sleep with him on his first week in to make him feel more comfortable. Harry, while not saying anything specifically, seemed to appreciate it more, even taking to the task of feeding them in the morning— even if it meant slicing up and preparing seal blubber for them. Oddly enough, ever since the time spent in Siberia with the serpentlets, Harry had grown on the baby quetzalcoatls. The young antics seemed to heal something in him he hadn't realised he needed healing for.

Harry, having completely forgotten about the Dark Lord due to so much going on in his life, from the brewery to new friendships, and the very obvious changes and discoveries of one of your friends being a god serpent— well there were just plenty of things to think about that didn't scream Voldemort. That— and the temple grounds themselves were vibrating with cosmic flows, magic, energy, and faith, something that was beyond anything he'd ever experienced at Hogwarts.

Voldemort, for his part, had remained quiet after Lucius had bookified himself. Whether it was because of that or some other sinister plot, Harry had no idea. But the Death Eaters had been quiet. Voldemort had been quiet, and it had been all too easy to set it aside when he wasn't suffering at the Dursley's. That had always made Voldemort seem so much more real.

Now, having graduated and started a business with Draco and Theo and now living in a place much more— or rather less— having to do with his godfather's interest in the female persuasion, he had a better idea why people were so easily dismissive of Voldemort's return and why the Dark Lord had always been so sinister.

People believed what was in front of them, and Voldemort worked in the background under the cover of so many mirrors and even more smoke. Moody had been teaching him a lot of things, and despite being a different species, he was still the Auror at heart. He never stopped being vigilant (or disgruntled) but he had a lot more passion for life now that Tova was around to whip him into shape and counter his cynical outlook with the smoothness of a healer.

"Helps that he's mating with Lady Tova too," Naseem said, having read his thoughts as expertly as a Legilimens.

Harry choked, grabbing for the glass of water on his bedside table and drinking it. Yeah… that too.

The serpentlets were doing loop-de-loops as they seemed to pick through his brain looking for tidbits that were interesting. What that was, however, seemed strangely alien. They didn't ask, but he knew they really didn't know better. Babies wanted to know, so they dug around until they found it. It never hurt him, having them shuffling around in his brain case, unlike when Severus had tried to teach him Occlumency. That was his own fault, he realised. He'd fought the man at every turn. It hadn't been until he almost got Sirius killed after specifically ignoring Hermione's warning to check Grimmauld personally before trusting the word of Kreacher that he realised he'd been putting his faith in something that didn't deserve it.

His hatred and mistrust for his father's hater— the only person who seemed to hate his father's memory— had even tainted his ability to trust Hermione, who he could at least admit he'd given the shaft in many ways he shouldn't have. Trusting Ron over Hermione was one regret he carried to this day. Ron had proven himself, and so, too, had his sister, by following the ways of Lucius Malfoy and bookified themselves.

Not the good kind, either.

PurrrRRRrrrRrrrrrr.

Pitch rubbed up against his hand, informing him that his subconscious petting had stopped, and she'd prefer it continue.

He patted the friendly book with affection, lifting her up to kiss her cover. She projected a clutter of furry hearts at him, cooing like a tribble.

Naseem yawned toothily into his face, projecting laziness. He seemed to think that today was a lie in day, and Harry had interrupted by having scar pain.

Harry frowned and picked up the sleepy Raina, running his hand over her obsidian scales. "Could you ask Severus to see me, love?"

The serpentlet yawned, chomping his nose sleepily, carefully gumming his nostrils. "Okay, Uncle Harry, but no yelling at my heartmate!"

Harry smiled sheepishly. "I promise I don't intent to."

Raina eyed him suspiciously, gnaws on his nose some more, and poofed in a cloud of cosmic plasma.

* * *

As Voldemort and Bellatrix set foot on the island they were greeted by a whole lot of— nothing.

The island was silent, with only the rustle of trees and shrubs.

"Safest place in all of Gringotts?" Bella questioned, eyes narrowing at the goblin, but the goblin swayed back and forth as he stood on the floating boat, eyes glazed.

Voldemort's lips turned into a sneer as he pointed the wand at the goblin. "Get off that boat and show us the safest place."

The goblin teetered, and stepped off the boat, but the moment his feet touched the growing ground, he vanished with a crack.

"What?!" Bellatrix pointed her wand at everything and nothing at once. "What trickery is this?"

"Nagini," Voldemort said, banishing the spell upon her so she was visible. "Go… play."

The huge serpent hissed and took off into the brush without hesitation.

The temple loomed over them from afar, and Voldemort narrowed his eyes. There was a sense of something— something of _his—_ wriggling in that direction, familiar but unknown.

The goblin's disappearance was annoying, but he wasn't sure what to make of it. Perhaps, there was some spell upon the grounds to prevent goblins from entering certain unauthorised areas to prevent them from tampering with the goods. Yet—

Why were _they_ not affected?

Voldemort frowned. He did not like unknowns. Nagini, however, would see to it that he knew more and take care of any little annoyances like security guards. A little death would probably have the goblins doing everything they could to lock the place down even more, and that was exactly what he wanted— _after_ he planted his Horcruxes.

As much as he liked Nagini— this seemed like the perfect place for her to dwell. She could be both guard and the guarded. It would be perfect. After that meddlesome Dumbledore destroyed his ring and his diadem. Always thinking himself one step ahead again. So, now he had to move them where that bloody do-gooder wouldn't find them.

Worse, at least while Potter was in school, he knew exactly where he was, but something had destroyed that plan. He'd lost him after he'd moved out of the Dursley's horrible little sanctuary into Black's piece of dirt house. He'd read about him in the papers opening that Brewery with Nott and Malfoy's little brats. After Lucius had gone off and gotten himself robbed off his entire fortune, his fair-weather bride had left England and Draco— the brat— had cut him off from his substantial funds to influence and get what he needed done greasing the wheels of the Ministry. He still had the other families, but Malfoy's had been the most significant.

As much as he loathed to admit it, Lucius had been critical in face-to-face persuasion that didn't involve fear of the Dark Lord. It was much easier to persuade with honey and wealth and a pretty face— something he hadn't had since he started making Horcruxes.

It was a small price to pay for immortality, and he planned on keeping it— especially now that Dumbledore had shown his hand in destroying them. That meant he knew about them. Fortunately, knowing the old coot, he was probably keeping the whole thing hush-hush, which only worked to further his own aims in the end. The old man always thought he knew better than everyone else. That would be his downfall; he never relied on anyone else enough to tell them the whole story. His little phoenixes would run around blind to curry his favour, thinking the old man knew all, but he didn't.

Meanwhile, his best and most loyal ended up paranoid, broken, or going mad— or all of the above. Voldemort smiled. Just like the Longbottoms.

Just like the Potters— except for that damnable brat.

However, that would be remedied soon enough. First things first, however. He had to find a new place for the goblet. The Lestrange vault was too easily accessed for his taste— perhaps too predictable for Dumbledore. Yet this place seemed perfect. He'd never even heard of it, yet part of him seemed to recall some sort of drivel printed by that quack, Xenophilius Lovegood. Something about sun and moon snakes. Well, he _commanded_ snakes, so he had no fear of them.

Everyone knew that the things Xenophilius wrote was complete nonsense. He'd never been right in the head after his wife killed herself in front of her own daughter— or rather died throwing herself in front of something her daughter had set loose. Not that it mattered as the end result was the same. Xenophilius went more than a little mad, creating all these imaginary creatures that seemed to have escaped a magical box that had been sealed by the gods— creatures that to this day he pursued, having taught his daughter about them all.

Maybe he should tell the precious little flower the truth about how she killed her mother. Yes. That would be perfect. He'd make her cry, drive her mad— just like he had to another certain someone. Then, he'd make her drink that _special_ potion so she'd kiss his feet forever. He'd set her loose on— yes! He'd set her loose on Harry Potter. Either she'd kill him, or he'd kill her. Either way pleased him. Either possibility amused him.

If she lived, he'd kill her in front of the other Death Eaters for daring to defy his orders not to kill Potter. They would all be properly reminded of their place. That pleased him.

He'd have to torture Xenophilius to find out where the chit was, though. No matter. He did so enjoy the process. It was one of the few things that truly moved his heart. Everything else seemed so stagnant. Even Bellatrix bored him anymore. Once his corruption of her had been accomplished, she was no longer amusing. Now she just fawned over him with blind adoration. Bah. Boring.

"Bella," he hissed.

Her head popped up, her eyes adoring and vacant.

"Go find us something to play with."

"Yes, my Lord!" she cooed, petting his robes and taking off down the path toward the rising pyramid beyond.

He could feel the magic coming from it— and he wanted to know where it came from.

Cloaking himself in a Disillusionment spell, he began to walk the path towards the lure of power.

* * *

Bellatrix felt like she wasn't going anywhere fast. Literally. It was like she was stuck in place. Things were moving, but strangely, the temple never got any closer. She eyed the pathway, perhaps wondering if it was enchanted to move in place while never allowing anyone to get closer. She tried to break off the path and move through the brush, but she ended up back at the path.

The path that kept leading to nowhere fast.

Irritated that she was not doing what her lord desired of her, she pulled out her wand and started to hack away at the dense flora and blaze her own path through the jungle foliage. Yet, when she turned around, the growth had already grown back.

_What the…?!_

She started to run blindly, and for a moment, the temple seemed to get closer, but then her foot caught on a jungle vine, and she tripped.

_**SPLAT.** _

She greeted the ground with her face, and her wand went flying into the fountain with a sploosh.

Fountain?

Her face hurt.

Her hands hurt.

Her entire _body_ hurt.

"Rrrrr?"

"RrrRrrr?"

Squeak. Boing. Squeak. Boing. Boing. Boing.

Bella blinked as a small, grey, pink dappled book stared back at her. It cooed softly, rubbing up against her face. It— was not alone.

She blinked.

It blinked.

The little books seemed to have a conference of squeaking, tiny, furry question marks forming on their covers.

The grey book seemed to make a decision and cuddled up to her face, cooing.

Bellatrix quickly rolled up into a sitting position, grabbing the book tightly in her hand, her fingers clenching as anger filled her, chased by a wave of blind hatred.

The book's crystalline eyes widened and it gave a soft, sad, piteous squeak.

Suddenly, her fingers loosened, and she stared down at it, confused.

* * *

" _Find yourself a little furry friend, Bellatrix?" Her father towered over her, his face twisted in disgust. "Weakness!" he sneered, his fingers choking the life out from the baby Crup. Its tiny body squirmed as it whined and yipped in fear, peeing over her father's arm. That made it worse, and her father slammed the terrified pup against the wall with a sharp crack, and the pup let out one last terrified yelp and went limp._

" _No daughter of mine will be weak."_

_Little Bella was crying, cradling the dying Crup puppy in her lap._

_He grabbed her, yanking her up by a handful of her jet black curls. "No daughter of mine will EVER be one of those pitiful, bleeding heart emotional wretches! My daughters will OBEY!"_

_He yanked the dying puppy from her hands and flung it out the open window. "You will NEVER bring home any pitiful creature again," her father hissed into her face. "Do I make myself clear?"_

_She sobbed, crying._

_SLAP!_

" _DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR!?"_

_Bella whimpered but she nodded. "Yes."_

" _Yes WHAT?"_

" _Yes, my lord father! I will never bring anything home ever again!"_

_Her sisters were staring at her from between the stair railings above, their faces twisted in horror._

" _See that you don't," her father said._

* * *

" _A drink, my dear?"_

_The well-dressed man gave her a strange sort of smile as he handed her the glass._

_She looked around, scared that her father might be watching._

" _Don't worry about him. He's talking to the Minister," the man said. "Such a lovely and talented witch shouldn't be hiding away in this old manse."_

_Bella perked. She hadn't expected that response from him. Most of the wizards her father allowed around were traditional and wanted their witches to be seen and not heard— well, correction— not so much traditional as expected. Bella had read stories about the old witches, so powerful and wise, leaders of their communities. Then, her father had caught her and threw the book into the fire._

_This new wizard intrigued her, and she looked around to see if her father was watching and then drank the offered drink. It filled her up with an odd heat. It filled her veins, her eyes, her head. Her body trembled; the glass went crashing down to the floor. Anger filled her. Hatred. Disgust. Her fists clenched. Her body tensed. It flowed over her, driving her back into her own mind as it replaced her._

_What?_

_No!_

_She felt herself look up and take the wizard's arm. "My Lord," she cooed._

" _I think there are other places we want to be, doesn't you think, Bella?"_

" _Of course, my Lord." No! Why can't I move! Why can't I— Help! No!_

" _Bella!" there was a tug on her arm. "Come meet our new friends with us." Andromeda tugged on her, smiling._

_Bellatrix felt her arm yank back as her voice hissed, "Get away from me you Mudblood-loving freak!"_

_Andromeda's eyes widened in fear just before the loud stomping of their father stormed over._

" _What?" he hissed, grabbing her older sister by the collar._

_Bella's face twisted into a cruel, satisfied smile._

* * *

Bellatrix trembled as the booklet in her hands squeaked sadly to her sudden abuse, but her fingers unclenched as horror filled her. Memories flooded back. The grey and pink-dappled book shuffled under her hand again, nudging under it as a cat would seek pets.

Despite everything.

Despite what she had done.

It cooed at her hopefully.

Bella's hand stroked the soft fur, her eyes losing the wild insanity that had clung to her for well over two decades.

The book stared up at her, cooing.

Bella stared back into its crystalline eyes, watching as a small furry heart drifted over its cover.

"Hi," she said, voice missing that tremulous note of instability. Instead, it was replaced with an almost shy wonder.

A horde of booklets hopped into her lap, cooing and begging for pets, and Bella pressed her face into their soft fur, tears flowing down her face.

There was a heated rush of magic and an indignant scream as a dark mass of oily black cloud rose off her body, even as it clawed at her, trying to fight its way back into her. The booklets snarled and snapped at it, crystalline teeth bared as they leapt to her defense. Their fur stood on end as they bounced, snapped and snarled at the swirling cloud of hateful magic.

Yet, even though the brave little books did their best, Bella screamed as her arm felt like it was on fire. Seething anger and hate threatened to rip her to pieces from the inside unless she submitted and allowed that cloud of evil back into her.

No!

Agony— pain like the Cruciatus only so much more— tore through her.

No! Not again. No!

The more she fought, the more painful it became.

Fwoop.

"Oh, hi Miss Bella," a cheerful voice said. A grey and silver serpent with rose-coloured eyes stared at her. Orange and crimson belly scales shimmered in the sun. Whitish-blue wings held her aloft as her strangely rebellious rainbow-coloured tail swished back and forth. "You're a little late. This might hurt a bit, but you'll feel better soon!"

"We think," a moonstone coloured serpent said, doing a loop-de-loop.

"Maybe," a scarlet and gold serpent said, her sky blue eyes whirling.

"This is going to taste vile," an emerald serpent said, his honey-coloured wings beating softly to hold him in place.

Suddenly, the serpentlets struck, sinking their teeth into her arm, right into the Dark Mark. White strands of light filled every vein and artery in Bella's arm. The dark cloud screamed and attempted to dislodge the serpentlets, only to have the parts that touched them become consumed in their radiance. The rest of the cloud tried to escape, fleeing—

"Hnnnnnnnnnnnngh."

"Hgnnnnnnnnnnnnh."

The serpentlets hummed in tune with their parents, and the white radiance of faith poured from their bodies and shot out to spear the fleeing cloud straight through the middle. The power drove the black tar from Bella's arm as it hissed and writhed.

Suddenly, the black tar jumped into the little grey and pink-spotted book, surrounding it, devouring it, corrupting it until it looked larger, darker, and slime dripped from its cover. It snarled viciously and leapt towards Bella's face, fangs glinting.

Bella's arms wrapped around the evil book, pulling it to her bosom and she pressed her face to the cover. "Fight it," she said, pinning it as it struggled to snap at her. "Fight it," she said.

The corrupted book's eyes began to clear, black replaced by soft pink again.

**CHOMP!**

The other books assisted by biting the other book, driving the blackness away.

The grey returned to the infected book, the healthier pink spots returned to its cover, and golden letters flowed across the cover: _Phew! Corruption Averted._

The other booklets had different titles.

_Teamwork is the Best!_

_Nothing Sharp Teeth Can't Handle!_

_Book Power: It Goes to Eleven!_

_Incorruptible: Love Conquers All!_

_Wij zijn schattig en jij niet! (We're Cute and You're Not!)_

The books cooed and purred at Bella as she hugged the grey book tight against her chest. The serpentlets released her arm, spitting onto the ground as if to get rid of the foul taste in their mouths.

"Time to go!"

"Yup!"

"Three."

"Two."

"One."

"Contact!"

The serpentlets covered Bella and the booklets.

**Fwooom!**

They disappeared in a cloud of cosmic plasma.

A purple booklet hopped out of the fountain, dripping wet, a wand clutched between its pages. It looked around, eyes widening in panic, squeaking in distress.

**Fwoop!**

"Oh there you are, Lilac!" Naseem grabbed the booklet between his teeth ever so gently and disappeared with it in a cloud of cosmic vapour.

...Just as Nagini's teeth clacked through empty air as the snake slammed into the fountain.

* * *

" _ **I**_ wouldn't, if I were you," a silken voice said from beside the fire.

"You! Where is Bellatrix?"

"Not even a hello? So much for all those manners that once so sweetly lured so many to their binding to your cause," the figure replied. He had the hood of his cloak pulled over his head, obscuring him from identification.

Voldemort hissed lowly, casting a spell that tore the cloak away to expose—

An annoyed-looking man with cobalt skin and smoldering crimson eyes. He pulled his spear to him and stood.

"Severus," Voldemort hissed. "You're looking quite blue."

"I find it quite fetching, My. Lord," he drawled the last words and elongated them. "Blue is the new you, as I've been told."

"You haven't been responding to summons," Voldemort accused.

"I fear I didn't get the memo," Severus replied. "My dance card has been quite full."

"Ever since you took that Mudblood brat under your wing, you have been defying me at every opportunity!"

"That witch is my daughter, and she is as far from what you think of her as a sun to a torch," Severus said. "I feel, for old time's sake, I must warn you to go no further, lest you find out _exactly_ what she is."

"Dead, Severus," Voldemort said, blasting Severus full-on with a spell of his own making, sending him tumbling into the jungle brush. "Dead is what she'll be, and I will come back for your traitorous hide."

Voldemort stormed up the temple steps to where power awaited him.

He did not notice Severus brushing the weeds and jungle litter off himself. The Jötunn's eyes glowed softly. "Your funeral, my _Lord_ ," he said.

* * *

Voldemort stood in a beautiful garden, surrounded in enormous topiaries of dragons and what appeared to be giants wielding spears and shields. There was a mirror-like pond with an ornate fountain depicting hippocampi and what appeared to be some sort of monstrous whale. The pond seemed to be separated into sections, and silvery fish with scarlet bellies schooled in the middle.

He glowered across the peaceful landscape. Where were all the people?

Were they all cowering somewhere in the dark? Like vermin?

Nagini must have driven them all away. Odd that she didn't share her kill with him. That was her way, usually. He extended his senses out to feel for her mind, thoughts, and location— only to be met with a hiss of pure frustration and her rushed movement past vegetation, rocks, and statuary. He pulled out, finding the movement distasteful. He much preferred to watch Nagini ambush things with a lightning strike than this, this— utter chaos.

She obviously had _some_ thing she was chasing, but whatever it was, he couldn't tell. She was obviously very determined to catch it. Her rage was as pure as her hate. It's what he loved about her— as close to love as he could get, that is. He imagined it was a form of love anyway. That heat. That strange stirring of the heart. Sure it was love if it moved him at all. The only other thing that moved him was the writhing torture of his minions as they grovelled or the writhing screaming torture of Muggles who deserved it more. Muggles were the only things that deserved every bit of torture he could dish out. Muggles and purebloods who thought themselves better than him— better than everyone.

But _he_ showed them.

Nearby, there was an abandoned stand with trays of hors d'oeuvres and drinks. He plucked a drink up from the tray and sniffed it, and it smelled of ripe berries. His lip curled, but some strange curiosity remained. He tasted it, just enough for it to touch his tastebuds, eyes narrowing as it tasted not of berries but some unfamiliar herbal concoction.

What trickery was _this_?

His hand passed over the hors d'oeuvres, feeling the magic of a stasis charm mixed with an odd cold charm that seemed to emanate from the counter itself. He poked the purple appetiser with his finger, eyes narrowing. He lifted one and nibbled the end. It was strangely buttery, light, and— rather pleasant. His eyes narrowed and he flung the entire tray of drinks and food into the dirt.

He scoffed, using his magic to burn the topiaries and uproot the manicured foliage.

Disgustingly in order. Just like the flawless hedges at Riddle Manor.

Even after his father's death, the old groundskeeper kept at it— some contract that fed quid into the old man's bank account long after his father's bones were buried. It was disgusting. Pathetic.

He stormed up the stairs of the great pyramid, his bare feet scraping across the stone with a dry scratching sound. It was time to put an end to the hiding. This tropical paradise.

Where the hell was Bellatrix? He needed her to summon the rest of his eager murderers. He dug a nail into his skin, causing his blood to pool. He flicked it into the air, casting his spell to tighten the binding around Bellatrix and bring her to heel.

Nothing.

No tug of her response. No hint of her eagerness.

He looked up towards the apex of the pyramid, thinking that the great power he felt could be messing with his senses. No matter. There were more than one way to skin a Kneazle, after all.

He stormed up the stairs only to find the stairs smoothed themselves out, disappearing into a smooth, mirror like surface. He fell, clawing at the surface, trying to stay in place, but he made a squeegee sound as he slid all the way back down to the bottom and into the giant topiary of a hippogriff. The nearby fountain hippocampus, however, whinnied and reaimed water directly onto his head.

Voldemort sputtered and pulled himself out, blasting the fountain with his wand, and the fountain creatures gave distressed whinnies and cries as they burst into pieces.

"That wasn't very nice," Bellatrix said.

Voldemort spun, pointing his wand at her. "Where have you been?"

"Detained," she replied in a sing-song voice. On her lap was a large tome— with eyes half-lidded as she stroked its— fur?

The tome yawned toothily like a lion, showing a full set of crystalline teeth, ending with a soft squeak of pleasure as her hand caressed its cover.

_Darklords Are Dumb._

Voldemort scowled. "Bella, destroy that thing."

"But I don't want to," she replied, her face pulling into a pout— that oh so familiar pout that usually came before she Crucioed someone.

Voldemort pointed his wand at the creature and sneered, setting it on fire.

The book screamed, tearing off the green to jump into the pond.

Bellatrix' face twisted into something dark and malicious. "That was a mistake."

"Give me your arm, Bellatrix!" Voldemort commanded.

She thrust out her arm.

"The OTHER arm, you idiot! What is wrong with you?"

Bellatrix put out her other arm with a sulk like a small child, singing some sort of nursery rhyme.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Voldemort hissed, stabbing his wand into her arm. There, where the Dark Mark was supposed to be was a tattoo— of an insufferably cute Kneazle kitten. The kitten moved down her arm and batted at the wand.

"She likes you," Bellatrix sang. Her voice grew serious. "Not that she should. We warn her about flirting with Dark Lords. But kittens— what can you do? They do what they want."

Incensed, Voldemort thrust his wand into her neck. "Crucio."

Bellatrix's body writhed on the ground in front of him, causing him to smile.

"Having fun, eh?"

Voldemort turned to see Bellatrix staring at him. He looked down at the one he'd been torturing only to see a disturbingly lifelike blowup doll. He whirled wrapping his fingers around Bellatrix' throat. "I grow tired of your tricks, Bellatrix." His grip tightened around her throat.

RrrrRrrRrrrrrrrCHOMP.

Voldemort looked down to find the singed tome gnawing on his ankle, giving him a hundred and one papercuts and slathering his feet with book paste. He snarled, ripping his ankle out of its grip and smashing his foot down on the tome.

The tome wriggled, eyes bugging out, slathering book paste.

A horde of small booklets streamed in from the side, pouncing on the Dark Lord with gusto, their tiny crystalline teeth bared to sink into his bare feet.

Voldemort yelled, taking out his wand and slicing and setting fire, finally deciding that fire was definitely the best option, and he started to cast a nice, lovely Fiendfyre—

KrackacrackaBOOM!

Lightning hit the top of the pyramid.

WHIRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRTHUNK!

A giant hammer slammed into Voldemort's face, breaking every bone in his face. Venomous Tentacula seedlings, having hitched a ride on their babysitter, swarmed over Voldemort's body, biting everything they could get their venomous beaks into.

"Come on, Harry, this way! While he's down!" A bushy-haired girl was dragging a black-haired boy by the sleeve.

Voldemort raged, flinging off the attacks as he saw Harry Potter disappear into a swirling portal along with some gi—

Snape's daughter.

His face turned strangely gleeful as he realised both things he wanted dead had gone to the same place with the door right open. He threw himself forward, throwing Bellatrix in front of him to take the brunt of anything that might come at him as he went through.

The portal pulsed as they hit the surface and were sucked in, throwing them to the other side.

The remaining books threw themselves into the pond, fizzling as the flames went out.

A black and white haired woman ran down the reformed steps of the temple. "Oh no! Are you okay?" In her arms was a fluffy grey tome with pink spots.

The other books hopped out of the water and shook themselves off, looking a little wrinkled and water-logged. They bounce-squished to her and toppled her over, nuzzling and squeaking, sending out a thrumming purr.

"Ye shouldna be here, lass," Moody said as he moved down the steps, spear in one hand, wand in the other.

Bella's eyes were wide. "Where does that portal go?"

Thor picked up Mjölnir and plucked some of the singed Tentaculas out of the pond. "Jötunheimr."

Bella mouthed the word, stumbling over its alienness.

Severus stepped out of the foliage and sniffed. "I wouldn't worry too much. Where he just went, his problems will see very small in comparison to… everything."

"Can't he just come back through?" Bella asked.

THUMP.

Laufey's lips curled back into a grimace as he threw down the large carcass of a giant snake with a spear through her cranium. "Only the blessed of the Great Frost Mother can walk through the other side. She decides who worthy and who is not."

Bella's eyes grew even wider as she realised Laufey was a giant. Literally.

"Grandfather king killed the snake!"

"She was mean!"

"Really mean!"

"She tried to eat us!"

"But we were quick!"

The serpentlets did loop-de-loops in the air and took turns glomping their grandfather with affection.

Laufey's crimson eyes burned. "No one messes with my grandchildren."

* * *

"Hello, Tom Riddle," a voice that seemed to embody ice and snow said.

The Dark Lord found himself standing on a snowfield with nothing but snow and more snow as far as the eye could see. The cold chilled him to the bone, cutting through his robes as easily as a hot knife through butter.

There was a woman in front of him, unlike any woman he had ever seen. Her body was seemingly sculpted from ice. White tresses of long hair strangely like woven frost.

"You have come a long way to reach the end," she said, her voice like a whisper of a thousand voices overlapping.

"Who _are_ you?" Voldemort demanded, pointing his wand at her. "What trickery is this?"

"Here you are— but a guest unto the lands of my making, and you dare point such a primitive thing as that to me in threat?" The woman closed her eyes, and when she reopened them, they were like shining rubies.

It was then, and only then, that Voldemort realised she wasn't standing at all. She was floating _above_ the ice.

"They tell me that you are a very horrible person, Tom Riddle," the woman said, brushing her hair back from her face to expose a bony crown-like crest of icy horns. "You torture even those that ally with you. That is hardly a way to guarantee the love of your people."

"Love? What kind of pathetic concept is love? I do not need love to bend my people to my cause. All I need is power." He scowled at the floating woman. "You think because you float above the ground that this somehow makes you special? You think because someone loves you that it gives you more power than I have? You would be wrong!"

"Tell me, Tom," she answered him, her head slowly moving as if she was looking at something bigger just behind him. "How do you intend to survive this place, let alone challenge the things that make it home?"

"The cold is nothing," he replied, sneering as he negligently waved his wand to perform a warming charm.

The woman's lips quirked as she watched his face contort as he realised the warming charm was— woefully inadequate for his current needs.

"You have foolishly bound yourself to things you do not understand, Tom," the woman said. "First to a snake of Miðgarðr, whose blood went into your remaking. Second to a unicorn, whose purity is so great that the harvesting of its blood corrupts whatever spell of life due to its violent death. Then, you created your flesh on the bones of one already dead, binding it with the hand of one who feared death so much that losing a hand seemed a better choice."

She floated closer. "And you now fear death, don't you, Tom? You always have, only now it's even greater. Even more— under your skin. Just as the snake has corrupted your body."

She narrowed her eyes. "Yet there was one more thing, hrm? Blood of the enemy forcefully taken."

"Are you quite through with your tiresome parlour tricks? Telling me about my own magic? I am well aware of what went into my rebirth, but I am forever. I will live eternal!"

The woman's lips twitched. "Eternal life is a long responsibility. Even some gods cannot survive that wholly intact."

"I _**am**_ a god," Voldemort hissed, his red eyes blazing.

"Many have come to this place claiming the same. One such haunts the snows, forever wallowing in the price of his arrogance. They say that in the wind you can still hear his screams."

"You do not scare me, witch," Voldemort seethed. "You may have twisted your appearance as I have created mine, but you are just another being whose magic I will defeat and devour."

"You may try, Tom," the woman said, her voice like a soft footfall on freshly fallen snow. "This Realm is of _my_ creation. And you—"

Her lips curved into a cruel smile. "You were an offering unto me, delivered by the faithful, some new, some old, and some who are _also_ gods."

" _ **I am no one's offering!"**_ Voldemort roared.

The woman's hair whipped around her face like writhing snakes. She pulled two items out from her flowing vestments.

A cup.

A locket.

"I took the liberty of relieving you of your cargo," she said. "And this horrible creature had that quite interesting locket around her neck." The snows parted to reveal a bright pink walrus-looking creature with a pair of twisted tusks. "Don't recognise her? It is her true self— though I did make a few improvements. She is self-impregnating, and she will provide food for my hungry faithful for— well, for as long as Jötunheimr remains." The woman's eyes burned brightly. "She is also immortal— just as you wish to be. While her flesh is probably as foul as her soul, her offspring however— well, not so much. They say that through the children, ye shall be redeemed."

" _ **I am forever!"**_ Voldemort yelled, barely able to make himself heard over the roar of the howling winds.

"Are you sure about that?"

The snows parted as a dark-haired wizard walked between a bushy-haired witch and a man dressed in ornate armour. An elegant and over the top horned helm adorned his head as a cape fluttered behind him. The witch had feathers in her hair, making it look like a bunch of parrots had donated and tried to make a nest.

"Through _my_ blood you were remade," Harry said, his face twisted with determination. He pointed his wand to his hand. "Through it you will be unmade." He cast a slicing hex on himself, and blood dripped from his hand, but before he could do anything further, Voldemort took action.

"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort hissed, sending a sickly green beam towards Harry that struck him directly in the chest, his crimson blood pooling around his hand and staining the pristine snow.

Voldemort laughed maniacally, summoning his Horcruxes to himself.

The bushy haired witch began to sway, and the man followed. Their arms crossed against their chests as their shoulders flexed. Bones shifted. Scales rippled. Arms twisted into wings.

"Hnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnngggghhhh!" the female sang.

"Hhhhggggnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnh!" the male answered in perfect harmony.

A bright pulse of blue energy novaed out from their bodies as Harry's body floated in the air, arms spread out like a crucifix. Brightly coloured scales and rainbow feathers mixed in sunlight wove between darkest blue of the midnight sky and the black and blue feathers that would have made any parrot envious. Light and dark scales brushed against each other as the beat of sunlit wings met mooncast ones.

Fwoom.

Fwoom.

Fwoom.

A circle of frost and snow swirled around Harry, carrying his blood into the air in red-stained crystals of ice. The woman clenched her fist and then flung her fingers open and outward, and shards of crimson shot out and embedded into the goblet and the locket.

Screams of agony came from the man who was the Dark Lord Voldemort, but also from the soul fragments that had embedded into each object. Black clouds of vile soul-tar billowed from each— and Harry's forehead. It swirled together in a huge cyclone of black.

As the huge serpents seemed to get larger, so, too, did the woman. Her arms outstretched as she towered above them, enough to lightly lay her hands upon their feathered crests. Energy shot out from their combined strength, shooting into the cloud of corrupted soul, and the blackness was purified into a bright light. That burst into a shower of golden seeds that spread across the frozen landscape.

Each seed sank into the frozen ground and ice-glazed trunks rose from each spot in a hurried frenzy of growth. Great white-blue trunks formed into a canopy of ice-blue leaves as giant, crystalline fruit hung from the branches. Under the canopy, other seeds from the shower grew as well, forming blue, leafy plants seemingly carved out of the very ice. They swayed in the wind, tinkling gently like windchimes.

As the frozen forest rose around them, Voldemort was having other problems. His pale skin was sprouting fur and his teeth were falling out. His red eyes were turning to gems as his body began to feel the effects of the bite from a brassed off baby booklet. His screams of fury were turning into a strange rattle of pages, and he frothed book paste from his toothless maw. Elegant golden lettering wrote and slowly spread across his spine and top cover:

_Tom Marvolo Riddle: Dark Lord on the Half Shell._

Voldemort wheezed as his transformation into a book seemed to have completed, but then his tortured body jerked and twisted again, forming him into furry giant oyster. Oddly, the golden letters remained on the hinge of the oyster, where the book spine would have been.

The Great Frost Mother looked down at the overgrown frost oyster and admired her handywork mixed with the "curse" of the angry booklet. "I'm so glad you're immortal. For as long as you live, you shall seed the oceans with your delicious progeny for my faithful. And, like the monster of a woman before you, you shall not need another to ensure this comes to pass.

The fat (furry) oyster trembled in impotent rage as both sperm and eggs released into the frozen water the goddess placed him in, sticking him against a reef some distance from the rocky shore to start his own oyster bed.

Meanwhile, the baffled-looking pink walrus-creature spontaneously gave birth to a "pup", the first of many.

The two feathered serpents eyed the walrus-creature and the furry oyster and hummed a soft song. They carefully nosed Harry, and he groggily sat up in the snow and grunted. "Did it work?" he asked blearily, rubbing his eyes as he massaged his hand which was pristine, must to his surprise.

The Great Frost Mother, who had taken on a more human size, wrapped a cloak of pristine seal-fur around a shivering Harry. "You are free, Harry Potter. Free to live your life without fear of becoming someone else." Her finger touched the cloak, and Harry's shivering ended almost instantly as a decadent warmth spread through his entire body in seconds.

Harry, his face filled with emotion, pulled something out from his robes. "Great Frost Mother, I have no hunt in which to give you, but I can give you this— something I have held close to my heart for many long years."

He held out the golden snitch he had almost swallowed so long ago.

The Great Frost Mother closed her hand over his, closing his fingers. "Keep your token, Harry Potter. One day, when you are a hunter, leave your first kill for me. That will be enough."

"But, I am not a hunter," Harry protested.

The Great Frost Mother just smiled. "You _will_ be."

With that, she walked backwards into the ice floes and fell backwards into the frozen sea. Moments later, the great seawolf whale rose and breached, her enormous body slamming into the frozen sea and then disappearing from sight.

Harry's jaw dropped. "Wow."

Hermione and Loki hummed softly, wrapping their tails around Harry and dragging him back towards the portal— to home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next up the conclusion of Mischief Managed
> 
> (Spider brigade whispering) Will there be spiders?
> 
> There should totally be spiders.
> 
> Wait, they eat spiders!
> 
> Only the huge, angry, homicidal ones!
> 
> Oh, phew. That's good then. We're too cute to be eaten!
> 
> True!
> 
> We should tuck in the author.
> 
> Also true! Let's go before she QWERTYfaces.
> 
> *drags off author to bed*


	7. Ties That Bind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I blame—oysters. Fat, furry oysters.
> 
> Beta Love: The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01, Commander Shepard

**Mischief Managed Chapter 7**

**Ties That Bind**

_Behold, my friends, the spring is come; the earth has gladly received the embraces of the sun, and we shall soon see the results of their love! -_ Sitting Bull

* * *

_**Taboo Lifted on Voldemort** _

_**(He's Really Gone This Time!)** _

_The Dark Lord Voldemort, whose real name was revealed to be Tom Marvolo Riddle, made an unprecedented raid on the inner sanctum of the Goblin Nation: Gringott's. Head Goblin, Gnarlhook, stated that nothing was stolen, but a goblin was put under the Imperius curse in order to reach what has been named the "temple" to those fortunate enough to visit it._

" _It was once believed that Voldemort was destroyed when his first Horcrux, a diary, was destroyed by Basilisk fang, but instead it had crippled him, taking out so many Death Eaters that it was believed he was dead. In truth, he hadn't had a body to be destroyed, and through a Dark ritual, he was reborn, weak, but alive. The damaging of his Horcruxes forced him to recruit in silence and influence even more insidiously. However, when he realised there was still power left in some of his Horcruxes, he strove to hide them in the safest place in all of Gringott's. That did not end quite the way he had intended," Arianna Bellwhistle-Smythe, spokesperson for the Department of Mysteries, stated. "We believed he had caused his own demise through the use of a Dark magic ritual that backfired, which was not an illogical presumption, as it has happened many times before throughout Wizarding history. His decision to keep a low profile ever since his return only helped in this. Unfortunately for him, and fortunately for us, there was a reason that the safest place in all of Gringott's truly_ _ **is**_ _the safest place in all of Gringott's."_

_As if to prove the finality of the true end of the Dark Lord Voldemort, an unexpected affliction swept through Wizarding Britain, causing—_

_Well, I'm not sure how to describe this, ladies and gentlewizards, but a book affliction._

_A number of people, all of which have been confirmed as Death Eaters and Dark wizards and witches all, have transformed into a strange series of literature. Each seems to be a biography named after the witch or wizard in question, emblazoned with Dark mark, and sharing a title of some variant of:_

_**Biography of (name):** _

_**A Death Eater's End with the Dark Lord Voldemort.** _

_**A Tale of Seductive Power, Bigotry, and Abuse** _

_The Dark tomes have been herded up by the Aurors and incarcerated in a special holding facility to insure there are no unexpected surprises released on the magical citizens of Britain._

_Even more puzzling, a strange rash of pointy-eared, yellow eyed, grey-furred books with covers that resemble a werewolf head, were found gathered together outside Wroxham, perhaps in preparation to attack unwary children. The biggest book, helpfully adorned with the name "Fenrir Greyback" in bold silver letters, made the identification fairly simple to verify._

_Ironically, two people who were thought to be living their lives out as animated literature, Ginevra and Ronald Weasley, have been reported released from St Mungo's last week, given a clean bill of health and have no recollection of where they've been for the last several months. The Weasley family requests that they be given privacy to welcome home their much-missed family members._

_When the DoM was asked how they can be sure that Voldemort will not return this time, Spokesperson Arianna Bellwhistle-Smythe said that their sources on this occasion were absolutely beyond reproach._

_When questioned as to the identity of their source, the press-conference was, unfortunately, closed to further questions._

* * *

Interdepartmental Memo

From: Fury, Nicolas

To: Department, All

RE: Britain

Okay, people.

I'm only going to say this once more. Leave all rescue activity in Britain to Britain. Hell, leave all of the UK/EU/whatever alone. If you feel a mission is necessary to deal with someone or some _thing_ that is squatting over there, you need to send a formal inquiry to our contact, Griphook, using the special mailbox in the lobby of Gringott's New York. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, then you haven't gone through the right channels, and I better not see your name come up on the unauthorized flight list. I don't _care_ if your classification is class five or you're fit only to be a janitor, you will need signed and sealed documents brought to my desk before I approve any travel to that area. If any of you think you are above this, you would be wrong. If you decide to ignore my warning, if there is anything left of you to bring back home, your clearances will be wiped, and I will make sure you are not employable in any place from here to Punjab, and you'll only be able to find work as a sherpa climbing Mt. Everest or counting penguins in Antarctica.

We lost way too many people following that bogus tip from Sigyn, and Ms. Sigyn will continue rotting in our lowest detention cell until we finally get the truth out of her. As it is, we owe the Sorcerer Supreme big for repairing our ability to travel to Britain at all, and I'm not referring the extensive repairs needed on our aircraft!

If you have any further doubts as to what may happen to you if you ignore this warning and go to that area without obtaining permission from the proper channels, we have left the unrepaired wreckage of our last MR-52Z vertibird shrined in our main atrium as a testament to what happens when we run off half-cocked without verifying our tipster's motives.

Now, for those of you with family in Britain, you can apply for a family travel permit at Gringott's NY. You will need to make an appointment to fill out the paperwork using a quill and ink. It has to be legible. Printouts will _not_ be accepted. For those of you with personal owls, you may apply via Gringott's London, care of Griphook.

* * *

_**Books are Happy to Greet You at Gringott's Library** _

_Not a book fan? These books may change your mind._

_Gringott's has opened up a library that serves as a waiting area for family and friends while others take care of business at Gringott's. Inside is a collection of tomes ranging from practical, informative, and entertaining. But, most unique are a rampaging horde of highly social, very entertaining, animated books._

" _Think the Monstrous Book of Monsters, only cuter and much more well behaved," librarian Rupert Giles said. "As long as you treat them well, they will even do tricks for you."_

_Books? Doing tricks?_

_Indeed._

_First visitors to the library are given a short class on animated book handling, and after that they are welcome to come in, browse, read, or just sit in the comfy chairs as they wait for their family or friends to finish their business with Gringotts._

_While some people are wary after what has been described as the Death Eater Book Plague that swept Britain, most visitors are utterly charmed by the happy, bouncing, and even purring books._

" _It's quite therapeutic," a visitor stated. "I think I come here just to destress after work."_

_All are welcome to come and visit the newest addition to Gringott's London, however, all must sign a disclaimer on the first visit that they have gone through the handling orientation and swear they will not engage in book violence._

" _Nothing you wouldn't expect at any library, really," Librarian Giles stated._

* * *

As promised, Harry became a hunter with the help of Theo and some of the other young Jötunn hunters— not for the sake of prophecy but for helping feed the serpentlets. Yet, while he fed them physical foods, what he didn't seem to realise was that he was feeding them a meal of faith as well. It was a faith that was growing, maturing, and becoming stronger without his realising it.

Strangely, he had a companion through his journey to putting the past behind him— namely Voldemort— and it came in the unlikely form of Bella Lestrange.

Bellatrix was dead, or perhaps she had never truly existed except as a construct of Tom Riddle's. The new, or rather old, Bella was a compassionate soul— the kind of person that Harry realised he was glad there was more to her than what he'd come to know previously.

Harry realised that while his stabbing the diary back when he was much younger had taken out much of Tom Riddle's power base, it hadn't taken them all out, but it had given them some peace of mind to build a life without the Dark Lord, even if it had been only illusionary.

Perhaps, the fact Lucius appeared at all should have tipped them off, but his scar had given them the warning they truly needed, only this time he had been wise enough to tell someone about it.

The end result— well, those furry oysters were damn tasty and prolific little (er, huge) buggers. The serpentlets enjoyed diving into the surf and prying the furry treasure chests off the shelves, and it seemed no matter how many they ate, there were plenty more the next day.

After a long series of conferences with Dumbledore, the Order, and the DoM (otherwise known as Those Who Actually _Knew_ What Was Going On) they pieced together what had truly happened— especially when every remaining person that had ties with the oysterfied Dark Lord started sprouting neon-coloured fur, lost all their teeth, and transformed into a toothless, angry book on oyster cultivation.

This time, for sure, everyone believed the Dark Lord was well and _TRULY_ dealt with. The proof was, well, in the eating. Literally.

After about a hundred or so random books on oyster cultivation showed up in various highly public places, all with the Dark Mark as a publishing marking on the spine. Aurors herded them up, and a new tank full of Death Eaters gone book filled up one room of the DoM. The tank was labeled: Death Eater Literature.

When they put a bunch of grey-furred, yellow-eyed books with strangely wolf-like ears into the mix, one of the Unspeakables commented, "I'm not sure those working on a cure for lycanthropy ever considered _this_."

Harry was happy to note that it seemed to only be Fenrir's rejects and the main psychopath himself that had been inflicted. Remus had owled from Australia saying that he'd been studying with the local aborigines, and since then he'd been transforming into an overgrown, albeit hungry, wolf three times a month, but he was acting like a hungry _wolf—_ not a homicidal monster. Most importantly, he was safe around his family. He and Tonks were expecting, and Harry was glad to see that Remus was not only happy but finally at peace.

Finding out Fenrir was sprouting fur full-time and jumping around in an aquarium of books, however, probably didn't hurt.

Gods only knew, Harry was having a lot of therapy considering the end of the reign of the Dark Lord Voldemort, now known, at least to those in the know, The Lord of Oysters.

Every month of so, one of the Jötunn would dive into the oyster reef and find the particularly distinctly fat oyster, pry open its jaws, and pluck out a huge dark pearl the likes of which the Realms had never seen before. Since the immortal oyster could not die, the process was repeated regularly, and the pearls went to adorn the altar of the Great Frost Mother. Sometimes, the goddess would decide a pearl was to go to someone, and it would roll off the altar and bonk into someone's foot or land right in their hands. Those who were gifted with them wore them proudly.

Harry wondered if the Dark Lord was aware on some level— trapped forever giving birth to countless highly edible children. Of all the ways he would list on how to spend eternity, Harry made sure to put "Don't piss off the Jötunn's goddess" on the top of the list.

Words for life, really.

That would go for just about any god or goddess, he supposed. Even though he saw a distinct difference in how the gods and goddesses of faith cultured their power base compared to those like the Asgardians. Frankly, the faith-based divine were _scary_.

He had to admit that the ones he knew more personally were deeply rooted in his life.

After the Dark Lord met his oystery end, er, beginning as it were, Hermione seemed to realise that while some people didn't have the option for forgiveness, perhaps others had done their time and perhaps deserved some time to prove they could be better. Maybe, Harry thought, it was her letting go of the past, a mortal senses of justice and taking on the greater and heavier responsibility of a goddess who had to have both a heavy and forgiving hand.

That, and Harry believed that the greater good, and he did so _loathe_ that turn of phrase nowadays, the Weasleys had been through enough. Maybe, he thought, they had mustered up a little of their own faith, and the Quetzalcoatls were not the type to allow that sort of thing to go unnoticed.

Harry twitched as he tried to make nice at the Weasley family dinner. He was invited, of course, all the time, but he never quite felt like he was truly a part of the family— not since school when he was so desperate for a loving anything that he would do anything— ignore anything— for a chance at that better life. It was not to say that the Weasleys were a bad family. There was no doubt that Mr and Mrs Weasley loved their kids. Harry had just…

Ron and Ginny were now sitting at the table again; Ginevra had her quite literal mate at her side— a maroon-furred, erm, haired individual who was always near her— just as Ginny preferred it. Ronald, of course, was a mixed bag. One could say he had learned his lesson, of sorts, but Molly had every book in the Burrow moved to storage just to make sure he didn't slip up and abuse one again, lest it come to life and send him back into the throes of bookism once more. Harry wasn't sure if that counted as recovery at _all_.

What Molly didn't know, however, was that Fred, George, and Arthur had made a pilgrimage to the quetzalcoatl temple— not to see Hermione but to leave offerings to the resident gods in the hopes to curry a forgiveness for their errant family members. So many came to the temple nowadays that few would even notice one more group, yet Harry had. He knew them personally.

Arthur had left his most prized Muggle board game. Fred had left a Quidditch World Cup program autographed by the entire Irish team, and George had left a very rare Godric Gryffindor chocolate frog card. But, it hadn't been the objects that had truly caught Hermione's ear and that of her mate. No, it had been the sincere prayer and the song of so much loss and even how much they valued in what little they did have.

Harry hadn't really thought Arthur (or even Fred and George) were the spiritual type, but he also realised that he hadn't been much for it either until very recently. Harry had the divine doing cartwheels in front of him on a daily basis, so it was almost expected. Arthur and the twins had only an inkling of what Hermione was due to the Quibbler interview by the ever overzealous Xenophilius. The truth was, most people, regardless of what place they heralded from, put gods in a different compartment than one Master Hermione Granger-Snape. To most, no matter how much you studied and how many credentials you earned, it didn't equate to godhood. Then there were people like Tom Riddle, who were self-proclaimed gods on Earth, and Harry knew how _that_ had ended.

Not well for him.

Very well for the Great Frost Mother's favoured people.

As the evening came to a close, Harry contained his sigh of relief and placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "Hey, Mr Weasley, could we maybe speak for a moment?"

"Sure, Harry, and it's Arthur," the elder Weasley said with a smile.

"I already spoke with Fred and George before they had to go back to tend the shop, but I wanted to ask if you would like to have dinner with us at the Quetzalcoatl temple next Friday. It's going to be a family affair. Ma— married folk with young children mostly."

"Oh, wonderful," Arthur said. "I had no idea you were so close to the caretakers there, what with living with Sirius and all at old Grimmauld."

Harry tugged his collar. "I actually moved quite some time ago, a bit before You-Know-Who met his final end."

"Oh?" Arthur said, scratching his head. "I'm sorry, Harry, I feel like I should have known this."

"It's okay. It was back when I wasn't visiting as much after Ron accused me of "fraternising with the enemy" when I opened the brewery with Draco and Theo."

Arthur winced.

"On the bright side, there _will_ be free drinks for everyone," Harry laughed, defusing Arthur's guilt on his son's behalf. "Luna had us create a new liqueur called the Black Pearl and she insists we have people try it at the dinner." Harry averted his eyes. "I think she's celebrating being able to drink again."

"I heard she had a baby recently. Molly made her a baby quilt," Arthur recalled. "Xenophilius was so proud, he couldn't help telling us the news."

Harry smiled, hiding his exasperation with Xenophilius as most did. He, unlike so many others, meant well, but he was a little like Hagrid in that he'd unintentionally expose secrets trying to cover up secrets. Luna said there was just so much stuff in her father's head that he really needed to get bitten by a Pirodact or something she'd said— he really had no idea what she was talking about. Piro? Pyro? Oh well.

It wasn't like he could see what she was talking about anyway, and he wasn't alone in that.

The Lovegoods had always been on good terms with the Weasleys, being neighbours and all, but while Luna kept out of Wizarding affairs in favour of her new family and protecting what had made it possible, Xenophilius was as eccentric as ever. Thankfully, most people treated the idea that there were actually quetzalcoatls in Gringott's in the same vein as they treated dragons or avid rumours. They were all "stories" to keep people from robbing the Goblins.

It was all fine and well. So far, at least, there had been not a peep out of Rita Skeeter— and that was both a relief and worrysome. Sure, she was serving time for being an illegal Animagus, trespass, manipulation of people, and so on, but if anyone could manage to write horrible lies and twist the truth from prison, it would be Rita Skeeter.

Then again, after Alastor finally found out the reason why they'd never been able to catch her at anything— the witch was probably serving time trapped in amber.

Even Sirius had finally "registered" officially— even if it was under the duress of having been captured and locked up in a Muggle animal shelter after getting rip-roaringly drunk and coming alarmingly close to getting himself neutered so he could be rendered "suitable for adoption." Remus was probably cackling himself into a lupine stupor somewhere in Australia. He wondered if he should ship the werewolf few special "wolfy books" to amuse himself with, but he figured the DoM was not going to allow Fenrir Greyback out of their sight, book or not.

That and absolutely no one wanted to dive into the book habitat in the lowest bowels of the DoM cells. They had learned early on that attempting to Accio any one book ended up with all of them landing on your face as they rabidly attempted to gum you to death. If anything, they _could_ potentially smother you to death, and that would be a most humiliating way to go.

At the very thought of Fenrir, Pitch wriggled out from under his arm and popped out two new "wolf ears" looking very much the pink wolf-book, much to Harry's amusement. He pet her between the ears, rubbing them until her eyes crossed, and hurriedly stuffed her back under his robes before Ginny saw her and came completely unglued. It was bad enough that Molly had "donated" her grandbooks to the goblins just so her daughter would stop continually fussing over them like they were her real kids.

Harry knew better than to even hint at the truth there. That included the tale of how Ginny had met her mate, erm, husband. Arthur suspected, but if he truly knew the truth, he wasn't saying. To his credit he wasn't asking either. Don't ask; don't tell.

"I think my Molls has plans with our Ginny. Morning sickness, I think, so she's doing the mothering thing, but would be glad to come, Harry."

Harry smiled in reply. "Great."

"What time?"

"Oh, say, around six?" Harry said. "Dinner won't be until around seven, but it will give you time to meet and greet."

Arthur grinned. "I wouldn't miss it for the world, Harry."

* * *

Arthur hadn't even gotten to the dinner table before he was assaulted by unkittens, tentacula seedlings, booklets, and a partridge without its pear tree.

"Nngah!" Arthur groaned, making happy sounds as he pet them all, even the tentacula seedlings seemed happy to meet him. One, in particular, decided to nest in his hair and ever so often wriggled a tentacle so he resembled Medusa.

"He hasn't even managed to get to dinner yet," Loki commented, tilting his head to the side to stare curiously at Arthur.

"I don't think he's going to make it, daddy," Raina said, peering at the buried Arthur as she did a loop-de-loop in the air and stuck out her blue forked tongue.

"Only because he's turning blue," Vidar said, shooing an excited booklet off Arthur's nostrils and mouth with his tail.

"But, we didn't even get to introduce ourselves!" Naseem complained, making an infinity shape in the air.

Arthur finally managed to sit up on the couch, sending a cascade of booklets tumbling into his lap with disappointed squeaks. He opened his eyes to find seven serpentlets hovering in front of him, swaying back and forth.

"Hi!" they chimed together.

Arthur's eyes grew wide as the headlights on his enchanted Ford Anglia.

"Mummy says we have to introduce ourselves before asking for hugs," Yoki said. She bobbed her head and swished her rainbow tail. "I'm Yoki."

"Raina."

"Itzel."

"Natsu."

"Geir."

"Vidar"

Naseem was caught chewing on Loki's ear playfully and stopped, eyes wide. "Naseem," he added, grinning with this fangs glinting.

"Introductions complete," Yoki said. "May we hug you now?"

Arthur made soundless words with his mouth for awhile. "Okay?"

_**FWOOOOMPH!** _

All seven serpentlets tackle-hugged Arthur with a simultaneous "Welcome to our home!" sending the poor wizard tumbling backwards onto the couch again.

Ronald chose that moment to swagger into the room and he quickly spotted Harry. "Oi, Harry! Have you seen my dad?"

Harry tugged uncomfortably at his collar as Arthur groaned, his voice muffled by the enthusiastic smothering of the serpentlets, unkittens, tentaculas, and one pesky partridge.

"What's with the partridge?" Ron asked, baffled.

Harry stared. "Erm, is that _all_ you see?"

"Well, there's my dad, and he's got a ruddy partridge over his head."

_**Pop! Poppop! Pop! Pop! POPPOP!** _

Seven serpentlets appeared in a cloud of cosmic plasma along with a cluster of baby booklets, tentaculas, and unkittens.

The serpentlets hissed at each other. "Oh no! We couldn't hold it!"

A bright pulse of magic came from the top of the pyramid as two figures walked hand in hand down the staircase from above and into the room.

"Mummy!" the baby serpents cried, flinging themselves at Hermione and wrapping themselves around her body. "We're sorry, we couldn't hold it!"

Hermione's golden eyes surged, but she smiled, soothing them gently. "It is alright, my darlings. You did your best. Harry, you allowed my children to disable Mr Weasley. Ronald, it has been a long time."

The unkittens hissed and tore out of the room, tentaculas and baby booklets following in a blur of motion.

"I've come to escort our guests to the main dining room," Hermione said.

"Guh, 'Mione," Ron blurted. "What are you trying to attract dressed like that?"

Raina released her grip around her mother's neck and glared. "Mummy dresses comfortably because that's practical." She put on her best Severus glare, which was somewhat comical on a baby serpent.

"And when did you adopt so many pets?"

Harry took Ron by the collar and dragged him off. "This way to dinner, Ron. Maybe you'll do better with your face full of chicken wings before your get yourself murdered."

Loki scowled. "I used to think Thor was uncouth."

Thor crossed his arms. "Hey, I've improved."

Loki shook his head. "I'll give you that, brother."

Hermione exchanged glances with her mate. "Come on, let's get to dinner before Ron eats everything and our babies starve."

"Nooo!" the serpentlets complained, always hungry.

"Brother."

"Hrm?"

"Why don't you bring in a nice fresh acromantula for dinner. I'm sure my father King would appreciate it on behalf of his people," Loki said, eyes narrowing.

Thor, oblivious, said, "Okay, brother."

The serpentlets put on their best halos. "Yay!"

As Thor picked up Mjölnir and went off to smack something large and egg-legged about the head, Hermione eyed Loki suspiciously. "My husband."

"Yes, my most beautiful and glorious mate?"

"How did you know about Ron's fear of spiders?"

Loki pressed his lips to hers and smiled at her as he pulled away. "Why, my darling wife. He dreams it very loudly."

The serpentlets had a look of intense concentration on their faces.

Pop!

Pop! POP!

POP!

PopPOPpop!

Seven multi-coloured overgrown arachnids swarmed over Loki and Hermione in place of winged serpentlets.

Hermione eyed Loki. "Woe, we seem to have exchanged our beautiful babies for fluffy arachnids of prismatic colours."

Loki wore his more innocent face. "I did not tell them."

Hermione crossed her arms, Snape-like, across her chest. "You are the God of Mischief, Loki Odinson. You are to blame, regardless."

Loki stuck out lip, pouting.

The fluffy spider-serpentlets all bounced up and down. "Ooooo! Fight!"

"Will mummy snub daddy?"

"Will daddy sleep in the frost beast house?"

"No snogging for daddy?"

"He'll have to sing _extra_ sexily."

"Ooooo, maybe he'll make a new song!"

All the serpentlets stared between Loki and Hermione, made even more odd by their multiple eyes.

Hermione grabbed Loki by the face and snogged him senseless before drifting away towards the dining room, her robes fluttering gracefully behind her.

* * *

"Great Frost Mother," started Raina.

"Who guides our hunts," said Itzel.

"Brings us food," said Natsu.

"And stands in front," said Geir.

"We thank you for our full plate today," Vidar said.

"Our ample blessings and even greater prey," finished Naseem.

The serpentlets did a loop-de-loop together in front of the large acromantula that was covered in spicy chilli sauce, a large rack of seal ribs, a giant bowl of blubber fritters, a virtual mountain of fresh oysters, and a great tray of urchin shots that had been specially prepared by Alastor. In the middle of the room was a huge specimen of prime Acromantula health, having been roasted slowly all day in preparation for the night's festivities.

The serpentlets carefully plucked the finest-looking pieces of food from each platter, set them on a shiny ice-carved plate, and oh-so-carefully carried it over to a frozen altar at the front of the room where a tall mural of the frozen lands of Jötunheimr blew eternal. They waited, heads bowed.

The plate of food disappeared off the altar and reappeared in the mural, and a giant seawolf whale broke through the ice, swallowing the entire iceberg with the food, and disappearing from sight. The serpentlets tail-hugged each other and looked to Hermione and Loki for guidance.

"Well done," Loki said approvingly.

"My friends and family," Hermione said with a bow of her head. "Eat and enjoy the feast, for as we are glad to have food to share, we are also equally glad to have those to share it with. Please, enjoy, and don't forget to save room for Minerva's most excellent shortbread biscuits and her famous Eccles cakes, which she has adapted to Jötunheimr's new, exotic frost-berries."

The gathered Jötunn stomped their feet in approval, and Laufey gave his mate a nice, public snog, much to the approval of everyone.

The serpentlets distributed themselves into any lap that would have them, which was pretty much anyone with two eyes and a brain. The "lucky" victims of the night shared their plates with the hungry serpentlets as well as conversation. Every so often, someone would slip tidbits off to the books and booklets that were cooing at their feet, and soon after they, too, had company in their laps for the evening.

"You shouldn't stare," Luna said as she sipped her almost-frozen drink. Mist flowed down the side of her glass. "If you do that to the Bratzak'kiz, they have the right to take a bite out of you. Literally."

Ronald stared at Luna. "Luna?! Why are you blue? And you have weird bumps all over your skin."

Luna frowned, patting herself down. "Oh, good, I was worried I'd lost my ridges. I would hate to think Eirik would have less to play with. I'm not sure what you mean by that, Ronald. Why aren't _you_ blue?" She adjusted the sling around her shoulder so the baby was comfortable, and in true Jötunn fashion, remained silent as long as mummy was close.

Eirik, not missing a beat, mrrred softly at Luna and took a moment to kiss the little one on the head. "How is little Ansgar?"

"Dreaming away," Luna said with a smile. "After the meal he just had, he's going to grown by next week."

"I had better get working on that spear," Eirik grinned, not missing a beat.

Ron's eyes were comically wide as he gaped, unsure what to think or say upon the realization that he was surrounded by _alien_ people— some quite literally.

As most of the guests settled down to the important business of eating, Hermione took a seat with Loki across the table from Arthur.

"Have you met everyone yet?" Hermione asked, a tug of a smile on her lips.

Arthur almost bounced in his seat. "Amazing! I was actually having a delightful conversation with Minerva. I almost didn't recognise her. She seems so happy! Oh, and Vali— such a precious little guy. So many little ones. Molly would be beside herself if she were here."

Hermione's eyebrow arched. "You're taking it far better than most who get to attend one of our dinners for the first time."

Arthur waved her off. "I work for the Ministry, Hermione. This is far better than being forced to make nice with Death Eaters."

"I wouldn't worry about him," Luna said to Hermione. "Arthur was bitten by both a booklet and a tentacula seedling. He'll probably be hallucinating all night."

Hermione frowned. "A booklet bit him?"

"It was Heliotrope," Jane said. "Arthur squeezed him a little too tightly and he nipped him. He didn't _mean_ it!"

"Ah!" Hermione said with relief.

Heliotrope, who was looking out from Jane's hair, cooed apologetically.

Hermione held out her hand, and the apologetic booklet hopped over and rubbed up against it. His cover read: _Oops_.

She soothed its fur and kissed Heliotrope on the cover. "All's well," she said, giving him a final pat before he bounced back to Jane, his cover having exchanged oops for: _Yay! Forgiven!_

Hermione took inventory of the tentacula seedings. "Which one of you bit Arthur, hrm?"

A slightly purple seedling drooped a little, shuffling.

"Come here, you silly thing."

The seedling shuffled over to sit in her palms. Hermione pulled it close and soothed it with her hands, whispering to it. "We don't bite guests," she said after a bit. "Well, invited guests. Uninvited guests, you may bite without repercussions."

The seedling rustled and extended tentacles to gently stroke her face.

"Off you go then," Hermione said, shooing the seedling off to rejoin the rampaging horde of booklets, unkittens and seedlings.

"That is so unfair," Harry complained as he walked up. "You get tentacula cuddles and _**I**_ get bit on the arse."

"She has far more natural charisma," Severus asserted, smirking as he passed a bowl of salad down the table.

"Arthur, there you are," Harry said as he sat down with a very pale blue-skinned woman, whose head was adorned only in bone crests and a fine weave of ice crystals crafted from the perma-ice of Jötunheimr. "Arthur, this is Elwilda, my most beloved mate."

Arthur's broad smile spread across his face like a sunrise. "Pleased to meet you, ah— Mrs Potter?"

"Amongst my people, Mr Weasley, females go by one name, in formalities, I would be Elwilda, Daughter of Per." She smiled at him, bowing her head. "Please, call me Elwilda."

"Arthur, please," Arthur replied, in a gush. "I'd seen some of your people around the temple when I visited after the war. I am very happy to meet you."

"It 'tis a refuge," an older-looking alien said, his beard was as long as he was, braided intricately and folded around him to hang from his ornate antlers. "One of the few places where all are welcome, regardless of who you fight once you leave."

"Though, it would be hoped that such a place at least makes you consider _not_ slapping someone upside the face with a Bzarigod whale," a feminine-looking alien said as she bowed her head in greeting.

The older alien smiled. "But it is a great honour to be slapped upside the face with a Bzarigod whale, my lady."

"Are they big?"

"Maybe they are tiny whales."

"A gummy whale?"

"A rainbow whale made of cotton candy?"

"What if it's a brass whale?"

"Ouch."

"Maybe a whale-sicle?"

"Space whale, definitely."

The serpentlets continued to speculate as the older alien laughed. "No, my little serpent-friends. The Bzarigod whale is mighty and gargantuan, thus whoever manages to actually lift one, let along swing it at someone is considered worthy of listening to, if anything so they do not drop the whale upon you."

The serpentlets cocked their heads. "I suppose that's fair," Geir said, tail swishing.

Itzel pondered a moment. "Is it as big as a seawolf whale?"

"I have never seen one, my friend," he replied.

"Mummy, can we show him?"

"Please?"

"Pretty please?"

"With a spear on top?"

The serpentlets made wide eyes at her.

"Ask your father."

They stared at Loki, tails trembling.

Loki eyed his progeny with a critical eye.

"It would be inappropriate to abscond with Ambassador Zeuxin in the middle of dinner; however, you may ask his permission after dinner as long as one of the Jötunn older than a thousand agrees to accompany you," Loki said.

The serpentlets looked torn between excitement and disappointment.

"Okay!"

"You are _not_ allowed to sway said Jötunn with your influence," Hermione said firmly. "They must agree on their own."

Two of the serpentlets slumped in disappointment. "Okay."

Hermione winked at Ambassador Zeuxin, who was smiling back at her, undoubtedly going to take the serpentlets up on their offer to show him a great seawolf whale worthy of the Great Frost Mother, Herself.

"Be home in time for bed, my darlings," Hermione said sweetly, chuckling to herself.

"Yes, mummy!" the serpentlets chimed, getting all excited again.

"Oi, 'Mione," Ron said as Naseem stared at him, tail twitching. "Are these critters _really_ your kids?"

Hermione tilted her head. "I'm not sure, my husband. Are they all ours?"

Loki counted heads. "Those are ours. That one is an imposter."

"Daddy!" Yoki complained.

"Oh, my bad," Loki said, changing his gaze upward as if to peer at his halo. "That one is ours too."

"But—" Ron boggled. "There's _seven_ of them! Even mum spaced them out a bit."

Arthur thumped Ron under the table, giving him a look.

"There would've been more," a disturbingly familiar, rumbling voice droned, "but I brewed them a helpful quetzalcoatl contraceptive."

"We _like_ brothers and sisters!" the serpentlets chimed.

"But, we can help take care of the other babies, so it's not so bad!" Natsu said, her blue eyes sparkling, her golden tail flashing as it swished through the air.

"And there are many," Sif said as she and Björnar exchanged looks. She cradled a baby against her breast as he slept away obliviously.

"Ach," Alastor said, throwing down a platter of smoked fish as he trudged in. He carefully placed the best looking one on the frozen altar in front of the mosiac Jötunheimr. He bowed his head and was silent until it disappeared. "Sorry I'm late. I had to finish smoking the fish so they wouldn't explode."

"Always a good reason, Hunter Alastor," Laufey said, gesturing at him to have a seat next to Tova.

Tova smiled at him. "Such a dutiful hunter, my mate," she praised.

"Helps to have both legs and two eyes," Moody chuckled.

"Our son shall never go hungry," Tova said warmly, giving him a welcoming snog in front of everyone.

"Mad-Eye?!" Ron blurted.

Arthur, too, while not as crude, took in the sight of the new and blue Moody, complete with stylish loin cloth, spear, and Jötunn appearance.

Moody shook a rattle at his son, a smile on his face. The rattle looked like very familiar eye. The baby cooed and reached out for the rattle and immediately caught it and put it in his mouth like a typical baby. Moody snorted and ruffled the little one's head ridges. The baby yawned almost immediately and snuggled up to Tova and was asleep.

"Who'd you think I was? Kingsley?" Moody said, raising an eyebrow at Ron.

"There's a thought," Minerva said from beside Laufey. "Hrm."

"You, my mate, are going to single-handedly ensure every Jötunn finds their match," Laufey said.

"We help, Grandfather King!" the serpentlets pouted.

"Indeed you do," Minerva chuckled, ruffling Vidar's feathered mane with affection only to get all seven up in her face and rubbing against her and Vali.

Vali yawned and went back to sleep, completely uninterested in being social.

"Jötunn babies sleep a lot," Vidar said, doing a loop-de-loop.

"Not like the Oodres do," Geir added.

"How do you know?" Raina asked.

"Ambassador Ptz'k'kik'k brought some with him," Luna said. "Someone didn't check the latch and they escaped all over the ambassador quarters."

"Oh dear," Minerva tutted.

"They are a lot like Nargles," Luna said cheerily as she munched on the end of an Acromantula leg. "They sparkle though. Much easier to find."

"I took care of it," Luna said. "Turns out they really love shoes and wristwatches, so I just followed the sounds of angry Nifflers."

Arthur tried not to stare as he realised there were a lot of familiar faces that had recently undergone a radical change in skin tone. Ronald, however, wasn't even trying not to stare and just gaped, his eyes going from Luna to Minerva to—

"Bloody _**Snape**_ is blue too!" Ron blurted.

"Obviously," Severus replied, utterly deadpan.

"I happen to adore blue," Hermione said easily.

"You _**would**_ say that, you're a Snape too!"

Hermione, refusing to rise to Ron's obnoxious spew, shrugged as she leaned back against Loki. "Blue is quite sexy."

The serpentlets perked.

"Is mummy going to sing?"

They all watched intently, humming.

"Hnnnnnnn," Hermione purred at Loki.

"Nnnnnnnh," Loki replied, grinning.

But, before they could carry on, Fred and George sat down on either side of Ron and grinned evilly. "So Ronniekins, how'd you like the Acromantula rolls?"

"Thwaht?" Ron garbled, his mouth full of food.

"And the seal liver pâté," Theo noted.

"And the blubber fritters," Harry said, popping one in his mouth with great enjoyment.

"Irony coming from you," Draco muttered.

"When in Jötunheimr," Harry said, sticking out his tongue at his friend. "Besides, you know your favourites are the deviled Acromantula eggs."

Draco averted his gaze, denying everything. Yoki, however, tickled Draco's lips with her tail and stealthily shoved the hors d'oeuvre into his mouth and closed it by using her tail to thump his lower jaw closed. Draco had the look of pure ecstasy on his face as he chewed, letting out a low moan of masticating pleasure. "Where has this _been_ all my life," he groaned.

"Breeding in the Forbidden Forest," Severus said with a sniff.

"We should totally have found out about this much sooner," Draco complained.

"That would have killed Hagrid," Harry said with a frown.

"Worfit," Draco said, his mouth still working on the appetizer.

Ron's face suddenly turned a pale, sickly green, and he stood up from the table and fled the dining room, the sounds of opening and shutting doors coming shortly after.

"He's not going to—"

_**HRUGHHHHHH!** _

"Make it," Itzel finished.

"We should go see if he's okay."

"Yup, polite thing to do."

"Permission to leave the table to go check on him?"

"You may," Laufey said, a tug of amusement on his lips.

The serpentlets zoomed off and down the hall.

"Hey, you're not looking so good."

"Still green."

"Need help getting to the—"

_**HHRHGHGHH!** _

"You're going to need a bucket."

"And a bath."

"Maybe a shower too."

"Hey, that's mom's favourite—"

_**HHRHGH!** _

"Ew."

"Nasty."

"What a waste of good spider."

"Don't you like spider?"

"Spider is great!"

"They are even better when their legs wiggle!"

Pop. Pop. PoppopPOPpoppyPOP!

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" the sounds of Ron's screaming came from down the corridor.

"That's my children," Loki said proudly.

Hermione said nothing, but smiled smugly in return.

Arthur blinks, suddenly becoming aware of something he'd missed while boggling over the immediate fact he was surrounded in alien delegates. "Wait, your children are quetzalcoatls?

Hermione smiled sweetly. "Yes, Arthur."

"But that means—"

"Mmmhmm."

"But you're—"

"Mmm."

"That we prayed to—"

Shhhiirrrrthunk.

Arthur had slid off his chair to the floor in a dead faint.

Pop. POP! Pop. Pop. POPOPOP.

The serpentlets arrived with pillows to prop up his head, and then fanned his face with their tails.

He groggily came to only to slump back again.

"Rut roh."

"Maybe he'd like us better if we were big fluffy spiders."

Fwwop!

They transformed into rainbow coloured spiders and bounced up and down on his body.

Arthur came to and promptly zonked out again.

"Well, at least he didn't scream."

"Yeah screaming was bad."

"Guess I'll wait to tell Arthur the news," Harry said, scooping up an armful of baby serpent-spider and cuddling them even as he picked up Arthur and moved him to a nearby couch, propped up his head, and then—

Harry grinned and tucked the serpent-spiders in with Arthur, turned, and returned to the table with an innocent look on his face.

Loki smiled broadly. "This place keeps better better!"

Hermione rubbed the space between her eyes. "I guess I'll prepare the guest chambers."

* * *

"So it's true then," Arthur said, looking far less pale as he sat drinking tea and petting a purring un-kitten, booklet, and baby tentacula seedling in his lap, all fighting for attention from his hand at once.

"Every bit of it," Harry said.

"I read the Quibbler, but I'd thought Xenophilius was just hunting for Snorkacks again, you know? Trying to keep his paper afloat." Arthur drank down his tea. "Giving hope to the people, you know?"

"It is a lot to take in," Harry agreed.

"And you're— wow," Arthur let out a long sigh. "Part of me, I guess, thought it was all glamours, you know, to fit in with the aliens. Oddly the aliens bit was easier to explain."

"Don't let Xenophilius hear that," Harry said with a chuckle.

Arthur grinned. "With all the things Fred and George do, it seemed perfectly logical that you were all glamouring up just to see what we'd do. I'd never even thought you were glamouring up just to make me feel more comfortable."

Harry fingered the egg-shell pendant around his neck. "Growing up just happened to be quite literal in my case," he said. "Thanks to Hermione and Loki, we can still fit in most areas," Harry said with a grin. "Well, the serpentlets too, because it was the shards of their eggs that go into the pendants. Lady Frigga made the first ones as tokens for those that were here for the hatching, and Hermione and Loki found a way to help the Jötunn with them, first to protect them from the heat, but then they realised it could also permit them to mingle about without people having to crank their neck up."

Arthur laughed. "After seeing King Laufey and Minerva— gods— thirty five feet or more. I'm betting that chap is on the more side of that."

"Well, he is our king, Arthur," Harry chuckled.

"Your— wait you have dual citizenship?"

Harry shook his head. "Triple, if you consider I'm British, a wizard, and a Jötunn."

"And you carry a spear."

"And a wand, technically— the wand is inside it. Minerva worked with Ollivander to place the wand inside the spear, and we shrink it down and carry it like a wand when we go out in public."

"Wow, just— wow." Arthur said. "I guess, Molly and I always expected you to marry Ginny, but when she disappeared, that all went down the toilet. Then she comes back, but she's already married to that maroon-haired chap, Beau Leon. Molly was so happy. So happy her baby was still alive. She could have come back with some American for all she cared. I think that's why she's at home, mothering her—"

"She's afraid she'll disappear again."

Arthur nodded. "Molly was never quite right after her brothers died, Harry. Because of that, she has always been extra motherly on the kids, and with all of our kids, that's a lot of energy. By the end of the day, she'd be tired and cranky, libel snap your face off than anything, but she loves her kids, and I know she loves me even when she's pecking away at me."

"That's what matters, right?" Harry said. "When I was just getting used being a wizard, your family was something I idolised. I mean, you fought and bickered like any person would, but at the end of the day, everyone knew their parents loved them. There was always food on the table, a roof over their heads. Hell you even had rooms for everyone. After living in a cupboard for so many years, that was amazing."

"Thanks, Harry," Arthur said. "That means a lot ot me. It wasn't easy, never being promoted, never getting that better leg up. Shite hours, and late homecomings. Sometimes I think if I'd just been less vocal about my fascination with Muggles that I could have done better for them."

"You were true to yourself, Arthur, and that was something I know Fred and George, Bill— even Percy took to heart. Look at Charlie, out there, training dragons."

"Even Ronald is true to himself, even if we don't like where it's taking him," Arthur admitted.

Harry sighed. "Yes. Lady Tova is taking care of him. He lost a lot of fluids and banged himself up with all that caterwauling last night. Don't worry, though. Tova is one of if not the best healers Jötunheimr has. She and Ishea are a matched set. I'm sure Madam Pomfrey would love to pick their brains."

"I hope he behaves himself," Arthur said with concern.

"Tova is mated to Alastor," Harry said. "Ron doesn't really have a chance."

Arthur snorted. "You are probably right, Harry."

"Tova even requested bringing in some live prey animals for him, so he can hunt them 'so he knows exactly what he's eating'." Harry smiled. "I tried to tell her that Ron hasn't hunted for life food ever in his life, but she told me her babies could hunt before they were a hundred, so that's no excuse for him."

"'No respect for the food if you do not hunt it, grow it, or find it under twenty feet of snow', she said to me," Harry said with a chuckle. "Not that I don't sympathise. I used to think Jötunn foods were so disgusting, I had to run away to hurl. I hadn't even tried it. I was horrible example," Harry said.

"I think you've become quite the example, Harry," Arthur said.

Harry grinned. "Thanks, Arthur. Want to take the grand tour? Feel up to it?"

"Absolutely."

"Hnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn."

"Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnh."

The very walls vibrated with the power of the quetzalcoatls' song.

"Whoa, what is that?"

"Loki is trying very hard to impress his mate," Harry said with a grin plastered over his face.

Arthur frowned. "How exactly does that work?"

"He struts just so. Sings just so. Rubs just so. His feathers glint in the light, his wings flash, and he bobs his head jusssst right."

The serpentlets air-strutted by, mimicking their parents' aerial dance, bob, and wing flashes before disappearing in a poof of cosmic vapour.

Harry grinned as Arthur boggled. "You can't keep _anything_ from quetzalcoatl babies. All you can do is guide them so they don't hurt someone by accident.

"But—" Arthur said. "They're babies!"

"Born with more head knowledge than most adults, I fear," Harry explained. "They just need practical experience to make sense of it."

Arthur was clearly having issues coming to terms with the concept of the serpentlets' scope of knowledge.

"A lot to take in?" Harry asked.

"Very," Arthur said.

"Did you at least enjoy the dinner?"

"Actually, it was fantastic. I'm not sure why Ronald made such a big deal about it. He was obviously enjoying it just fine until—"

"Ignorance is bliss," Harry said with a chuckle. "Not that Fred and George didn't, uh, hasten the revelation."

"Entirely intentional, I'm sure," Arthur mused. "I know my sons, and those three have had it out for each other ever since Ronald was born. Charlie tried to tell me the reason, but— I didn't listen. I don't think I wanted to listen or know. I didn't want to think a child was capable of creating such spite before he could even crawl."

"How so?"

"Ron was the baby of the family, you see," Arthur explained. "The last child, or so we thought. Molly coddled him, protected him from his brothers something fierce. There were some times—"

Arthur sighed. "Times when Molly accused the twins of doing things to him when they swore up and down that they hadn't. One day, Ronald apparently climbed up on the counter to nick some biscuits from the tin, and he fell. Molly came running in to see Fred and George staring as Ron had this giant goose egg on his head and was wailing like someone had tried to beat him to death. The twins denied doing anything to him. Now, kids lie, they test borders, and she thought they were doing just that, time and time again, until finally I think they simply decided that they weren't even going to try anymore. Molly was blaming them anyway, so they took their frustrations out on Percy and Ron, picking on their individual flaws, but each and every time Ronald got hurt, he'd always blame the twins."

Arthur rubbed his head. "Ronald did something terrible, Harry. I'm not sure what, but he has been given a second chance, and I have no idea how to get him to make the best of it."

Harry pursed his lips together just as Naseem popped into his arms and wrapped himself around Harry in a hug. "Hi, Uncle Harry! Is it my turn?"

Harry smiled. "I think so."

Naseem flitted and bobbed his head, honey-coloured wings fluttering. "Okay! Mr Weasley! I'll be your therapeutic partner for today!" He wrapped himself around Arthur's neck and pointed with his tail. "This way for the tour of our home!"

Harry chuckled as Naseem dragged Arthur off for the official tour, and wondered how many worlds he would be visiting before he came home.

"This way, Mr Weasley-Arthur," Naseem said. "There's strawberry pie! No don't go that way! That way is the seal carcass they are curing. Strawberry pie is much better in the morning. Seal is for dinner!"

Harry snickered into his hand. Poor Arthur.

* * *

"Fred, George, why are you blue? Did you dose yourselves with some experimental concoction again? You know what happened last time! Where have you been? It's been _**weeks**_ since I've seen you!"

"Uh—" Fred started.

"You _**know**_ I worry about you! Ginny is pregnant and needs help!"

"Mum, if you'd just—" George tried to say.

Two female Jötunn hunters stepped into the door, being careful to duck so as to not hit their heads on the top of the door frame.

Molly's tirade screeched to an abrupt halt as she gaped as the sight of their rune-covered spears and distinctive lack of anything but a loincloth and a soft drape of gossamer wrap around the chest and neck.

"As we were trying to say, mum, sorry we weren't around, but we were quite busy on a hunting trip with Harry. It was our first one, so we had to do everything just right so our mates wouldn't leave us before we even got started."

The two females shook their heads.

"You were interesting before you proved your worth in hunting," the taller one said as she glared at the low-hung door. "Though, the hunting helped seal the deal."

George pouted. "Just the hunting?"

"Perhaps, your sense of humour."

George slumped, and Fred thumped him on the shoulder. "Don't even try fishing for compliments from the ladies, George. If she didn't appreciate your prowess, she wouldn't have agreed to be your mate."

"Would be nice to know I wasn't a failure, bro," George said. "Verbally, that is."

"Oh, I think you had that covered the other night," Fred said with a sniff.

"Ha, ha, boys," Molly said. "You can stop trying to get a rise out of me and help set the table. Whoever your friends are, they might as well stay for dinner, but you can drop the charade."

Fred and George exchanged glances. "Mum, this isn't playing."

"Mum, this is Sigrid," Fred said, taking the "shorter" female by the hand. He pressed his forehead to hers and smiled. "My most cherished lady."

"And this is Svanhild" George said, pressing his palm to his lady's cheek as he pressed his forehead to hers, "my inspiration."

"Hey!" Fred said. "What am I? Chopped liver?"

"And that is my long lost brother Fred," George said, deadpan. "I found him trapped in the permafrost and had to thaw him out. He grunts a lot."

Fred crossed his arms. "Harumph."

"Wha?" Molly said, her spoon raised in mid-air. "Fred, George, this better not be one of your horrible jokes.

Fwoop!

POP!

POpOP! POP! Pop.

The serpentlets arrived in a cloud of cosmic plasma, carrying a large hamper filled with food.

"Hallo, Lady Svanhild. Lady Sigrid! Weasley-George, Mr Fred," they chimed.

"You forgot your picnic hamper!"

"We brought it!"

Natsu curled up on top of Fred's head like a turban and peered down at him. "Grandpa Severus and mummy prepared you some shrimp and cucumber sandwiches."

"And kroketten," Itzel said, bobbing her head.

"And salade van paling met appel-stroop," Geir said, doing a fancy loop-de-loop.

"And the kaasstengels!" Vidar added.

"Oh, hello, Weasley-Molly-mummy-person!" the serpentlets greeted.

"We should go."

"Yeah, it's our turn to show the ambassadors around the temple."

"Ooo, the ones with the tentacles and eyestalks?"

"Yup!"

"Let's go!"

FWOOP!

The serpentlets disappeared in a cloud of cosmic vapour.

Sigrid and Svanhild caught the picnic hamper together.

Fred caught his mother as she fell backwards.

George caught the spoon she was holding.

"That went well," George said.

Sigrid and Svanhild exchanged glances.

"Whatever you say, my mate."

Fred gently lay his mother on the settee and pulled the quilt over her. The twins embraced their mates, perhaps for reassurance or simple need for their touch after the stress of their mother. Their skin flushed back into the "normal" state of blue, eyes glowing crimson as they purred softly at their mates.

"Hey mum, can you help me with this button, I can't—" Ginevra screeched to a halt as she saw four giant blue people standing in the living room.

Fred caught his sister as she fainted, sighing.

"Like mother, like daughter," George said, shaking his head in mock dismay.

"You have an interesting family," Sigrid said thoughtfully.

"I'm surprised your floor isn't more… padded," Svanhild said. "With all the fainting."

"Normally, there is more tongue lashing, gnashing of teeth, and threats involving waving spoons and cast iron cooking implements," Fred noted.

"This is normal for your family?"

"Well, on some days," George said, "we actually get through a dinner without mum having something to harp on us about." He gave a lopsided grin.

"Might as well set the table," Fred said. "This hamper smells delicious."

* * *

"And how was your intervention, my lovelies?" Hermione said as the serpentlets twirled and bounced around her in the air.

"Weasley-Molly fainted," Geir announced, shaking his mane of feathers.

"Everything went well after that," Itzel said.

"She thought Fred and George were playing a joke on her," Vidar said, rubbing his head against his mum's hands for massaging that itch just out of reach.

"Weasley-Ginevra fainted too," Naseem said. "Maybe it's genetic."

"Like fainting goats," Yoki speculated.

"We should test it!" Natsu said.

"Yes," Raina agreed. "Tests make sure the results are repeatable." Her blue tongue flicked in and out in amusement.

"They are getting on well now," Geir said, extending himself up straight and bobbing back and forth in an imitation of the wiggle he saw his father doing.

"Even though Weasley-Molly thinks her sons married savages, still," Vidar said, his feathers flattening against his head and body.

"Better though, getting better!" Yoki said, play bonking her brother with her nose.

"Better is what counts, my children," Hermione said scooping her serpentlets up and hugging them until they piled all over her with a thump. They wriggled up against her and hummed a song they had made up just for her, head bobbing, fangs flashing, and feathers shaking just so.

Hermione grinned, enjoying their desire to impress as any mother and their child indulged the antics of their children.

"Mummy?" Yoki asked, cuddling up to her mother with intent.

"Yes, love?" Hermione answered.

"Can we go for a flight together?" Yoki asked sweetly, gushing as much charm as her rebelliously rainbow tail could muster.

"Ooooo, please!" the rest chimed together, standing up straight on their tails and spreading their wings out as if they were totem poles.

"Oh, I suppose," Hermione said with a sly grin.

"Yay!" the serpentlets cried.

"Hnnnnnnnnnnnngh," Hermione sang as her body shifted into her true and most radiant form, sun glowing from her feathers and scales as her mane of feathers surrounded her head. The solar quetzalcoatl launched into the air and off the balcony as her body expanded towards her true size, the power of the gathered faith making her far larger than her first transformation so long ago. As she took to the air, the space around her seemed to shift and expand, forming into the vastness of space where stars hung in their black backdrop. The temple islands seemed to float not in Gringott's but the in the expanse of outer space, where nebulae swirled, quasars pulsed, and very fabric of life extended in all directions.

"Hnnnnnnnnnngh," Hermione sang.

The serpentlets sang with her, adding their voices to the cosmic weave.

"Hgnnnnnnnnnnh," Loki's voice joined the harmony as his massive body slide against Hermione's. Their bodies entwined as they spiraled through the air, wings spread with the golden rays of the sun and the blue-white of the moon.

They danced amongst the stars, their bodies swirling and making patterns. Their radiance casting light upon all the Realms at once, and even Ásgarðr paused and looked up into the immenseness of space and saw their dance.

From Jötunheimr, however, came an answering song— the song of the great seawolf whale— as a cosmic creature rose from the Realm. Celestial water splashed from the whale's great form as it breached the stars as the goddess Herself saluted them.

The serpentlets shot off to dance around the goddess that never stopped watching over Jötunheimr, dancing and singing for her as they did for their parents. They rubbed up against her body in adoration, frolicking in her majesty.

As Hermione and Loki approached the elder goddess, they bowed their heads to her, flaring their feathers in respect to the Great Frost Mother, She-Who-Came-Before, and they danced for her, swaying and singing their song as thousands of voices of their faithful wove through every note, gaining more and more converts with the show of the quetzalcoatls' true divinity.

As the faith rose, shared between the Great Frost Mother and the quetzalcoatl family, they were suddenly joined. Severus, Ishea, and Minerva were suspended in a bubble of energy, their bodies blurred and shifted as the serpentlets sang—

Fwoooooom!

The bubbles burst and Severus emerged from his as a pewter-scaled serpent with glossy black feathers. Ishea twirled around him, her bright blue-violet scales offset by dark purple feathers the colour of aubergines. Minerva peered out from behind Hermione's great coils, her spring green body rimmed with feathers in a deep fuschia-pink that was reminiscent of thistles, the national flower of Scotland.

"Dance with us, my priest!" Raina sang to Severus.

"Dance with us, my heartmate," Geir sang to Ishea.

"Dance with us, my priestess," Vidar sang to Minerva.

They slithered up and around their chosen, humming.

Slowly, Severus first, a note added to the song. Then another and another.

"Hnnnnnnnnnnnnngh," Hermione's song ran across the cosmic pathways, vibrating through the Realms.

"Hgnnnnnnnnnnnnnh," Loki's song harmonized.

"Mmmmmmmmmmmmm!" the serpentlets sang, their voices joining with their chosen, their parents, and each others to complete the vibration.

Yoki and Naseem did a whirling dance, creating patterns and a different harmony. The vapours swirled around them and then concentrated as they focused very hard.

Fwoosh.

Laufey and Frigga were both suspended in bubbles, enveloped in cosmic plasma.

Yoki twirled around Laufey's bubble. "Join with me, grandfather king! Be my priest! You will, won't you? Together we shall pay honour to the Great Frost Mother and bring peace to Jötunheimr."

Tears flowed down Laufey's face as he closed his eyes. "Yes."

His body shimmered, and the bubble burst. His body expanded outward in a flash of phthalo blue scales and carmine feathers. Blue-white runes covered his body, matching those of his Jötunn form.

Yoki twirled with joy, radiating unparalleled, genuine love for her grandfather-priest, and their song joined together with the others.

Naseem sang to Frigga, doing his best and most glorious dance. "Join me, grandmother! Be mine. Share with me the cosmos that we may travel it together!"

Frigga's face relaxed, an expression of pure peace falling upon it. "Yes."

Her body shimmered and twisted as her bubble burst. She spilled out in a cascade of pearlescent scales, each shimmering with the colours of the Bifröst. Golden feathers crowned her head as cream-and-white wings stretched out from her back.

Naseem twirled and wrapped around his grandmother, radiating pure joy at their joining. He sang, and she joined in— trembling at first but gradually growing clearer and stronger.

While the newest quetzals were somewhat smaller than Hermione and Loki, they were no less glorious in their presentation. The Great Frost Mother breached in the cosmic waters, and the quetzalcoatls swirled and danced with her, spreading the radiance of their combined faith across all the Realms and beyond.

Rain fell in the deserts, causing them to bloom. Droughts came to an end. Floods receded, glaciers stopped melting, and entire forests regenerated.

Itzel sang sadly, her song lonely and heart heavy. Somewhere, a lush grassland withered and shriveled.

The others sang to her, wrapping and gliding around her. Severus, Minerva, Frigga, and Laufey slid against her as Hermione and Loki sang out again.

Loki bobbed his head.

Hermione mirrored.

The serpentlets mimicked them.

The four newest quetzalcoatls attempted to imitate.

Again. Again. Their sphere of influence expanding and solidifying.

And while some, perhaps, never noticed, attributing the changes, such as better weather and more fertile lands to the natural shift and sway of tides and random cosmic phenomena, others saw it for what it was: the rise of new gods, protectors of their eternal domain. Other species believed it to be a sign of the coming end of the world, and perhaps it was to some.

It was an end to stagnation. The cycle was _alive_ again. Light touched the places that had only known darkness, but darkness also loomed around the places that had only known light.

But the Song whispered in every rustle of grass, leaf, and wind upon the sand. Life continued. Life evolved.

* * *

_Time passed…_

* * *

"Come on, Kings!"

The rainbow-scaled quetzalcoatl nudged the wizard with her nose and tickled him with her tongue. "Come on, sleepyhead! It's time to go to the hatching!"

"Please, mum, just five more minutes," Kingsley moaned into his pillow.

Itzel sighed and wrapped her coils around Kingsley, slithered over to the shower, dumped him in, and used her tail to hit the button on the side.

Warm water rushed down as Kingsley let out a strangled yell and then came the sounds of frantic scrubbing.

A few minutes later, Kingsley stormed out of his bathroom with a towel around his waist. " _ **You!"**_ he accused the quetzalcoatl.

"Hrm?" Itzel said, her tail looped mischievously.

"You're _insufferable_."

"I'm Itzel."

Kingsley crossed his arms and mock-scowled at her.

"And you're my priest," she purred, radiating pure love and affection.

Kingsley wilted, hugging the serpent's scruff of white-blue feathers. "Why couldn't you have taken after your mother instead of the sodding God of Mischief?"

Itzel head bobbed. "You _love_ me."

"That's beside the point!"

"I take after both my mum _and_ my dad," Itzel said cheerfully.

"Some more than others," Kingsley muttered. He pulled on his robes and his brightly coloured hat.

"You always dress to impress," Itzel said approvingly. "You look best as a quetzalcoatl though."

"Biased."

"Understandably so."

"Debateable. Besides, we both know I was second choice to Thor."

Itzel nuzzled him, tongue flicking. "I was a baby. I did not understand duty to his people. He was not king then. Besides, Grandpa King Laufey multitasks. I thought everyone could be like him."

"Laufey is hardly an example of typical for his people. Nor is his mate," Kingsley said.

Iztel tongue flicked, pegging Kingsley on the nose. "We love exceptional people."

"There are millions of people on the world," Kingsley said.

"Only one you," Itzel replied, bobbing her head and fanning her head feathers. She purred at him. "Come on, heartmate, it's time to see the hatching! Grandpa Severus finally decided the universe was ready for more serpentlets!"

"Somewhere out there, someone is writhing in their grave at the thought that Severus decides when the universe is ready for more baby serpentlets," Kingsley said, shaking his head.

"Mum and dad approve of his judgement," Itzel said. "Let's go! We'll be late!"

"Okay, okay!" Kingsley said, closing his eyes as he stepped onto and then off the open balcony—

He rose as a feathered serpent, his deep bronze body scales contrasting with royal blue and purple feathers that matched his favourite set of robes.

"That's my priest," Itzel said proudly. She rubbed up against him and launched into the air, leaving their nest perched high above Ásgarðr. She wrapped herself around Kingsley's body—

FWOOP!

They disappeared in a poof of cosmic plasma.

* * *

As the faithful gathered around the quetzalcoatl temple for what was, for most, a once in a lifetime experience, each of the priests and priestesses tended the flocks of the faithful, giving directions, guidance, and needed translation, especially for those that had never been there before.

While each of the priests and priestesses were not as colossal as the _**true**_ quetzalcoatls, they were by no stretch small, and Loki and Hermione curled around the eggs together, singing to their latest brood.

Five eggs shimmered at the top of the temple dias, singing back excitedly to their parents in preparation for their big debut. The temple itself floating in space, existing in multiple places at once for the big event, the very stone vibrating with the power of the faithful and excitement of those who had no idea what to expect. The area around the temple shimmered with magic as all nine Realms met together, folding space that all might attend the event.

Raina, Itzel, Natsu, Yoki, Geir, Vidar, and Naseem added their song to their parents, and their bonded added their notes as well, each helping channel the energy of the gathered to the top of the temple to welcome in the next generation.

The gathered added their own songs to the mix, each with their own personal touch.

From Ásgarðr, Terje sat upon the throne with his twin Leif at his side, while Thor and Jane happily found themselves with free time, or as much as free time could happen when one had grandchildren.

To no one's surprise, Jötunheimr made more than a fair sharing of presence, their bodies forming a virtual sea of blue as their silvery banners depicting the Great Frost Mother's seawolf whale flapped in the wind. Ásgarðr too, sent their own, the blue met with a sea of golden helms. Yet, unlike so many centuries before, they stood side by side in peace.

Miðgarðr had their own share of representatives, some old, and some newer, but it was by far the ones who had supported the ascension of the solar and lunar quetzalcoatls that made up most of their number. Foals pranced happily around their dams as the centaurs gathered with the goblin nation, all of which revelled in the hatching with eagerness.

As the eggs rocked back and forth, cracks formed on each one, trickles of light and cosmic vapour seeping out from each one. The largest egg, blue and white swirled together with golden flecks, burst open with a explosion of shards and light as the newly hatched serpentlet attached to his father's snout. "Hello, father! I am Ahio!"

Loki eyed his progeny with a critical eye, perhaps counting feathers, scales, or examining his tail. The little serpentlet, whose scales were the colour of the summer sky, stretched out his golden wings and fanned them. His ruby eyes whirled with excitement as he crooned to his father.

Hermione pegged her firstborn son with her tongue, cleaning off the hatching debris, and the serpentlet wriggled and giggled at his mother's attentions. Ahio cuddled up to his mother's mane and radiated pure love and affection. He unclamped from her mane and stretched his wings, attempting to gain loft, but just as he did, the two nearest eggs shattered and exploded outward as a rose and tangerine serpentlet and a russet and cream serpentlet slammed into their brother. "Hallo, brother!" they cried.

"I am Eteria!"

"I am Iraja!"

A smaller purple egg rocked back and forth crazily, spinning in the nest. Suddenly, a shard popped off the top in almost a perfect circle. Two glowing aquamarine eyes peered out as a magenta snout and furl of indigo feathers followed cautiously. "I am Souma," he hissed as he slithered out of the egg the rest of the way, leaving it almost perfectly intact.

Hermione curled her tail around Souma and sang, and the little one perked, recognising the song he had heard through the shell for ever so long.

"Mummy!" he cried, diving into her mane of feathers and disappearing completely.

Loki stuffed his snout into his mate's mane and slurped his wayward son, eliciting a few soft giggles from inside.

The last egg was a faded creamy gold, and it rocked back and forth and stopped and then continued , the egg rocked so violently that it tumbled out of the nest, cracking a little more with each bounce as it tumbled down the dais toward the hushed crowds below.

The silence was heavy.

Crack.

Crack.

Crack.

_**CRACK!** _

The egg shattered midway down the temple steps before anyone could even move. Blurs came shooting out—

 _ **WHUMP**_.

Severus was there, his tail wrapped around pale blond serpentlet with pearl grey eyes number one and his mouth around pale blond serpentlet with bright blue eyes number two. His eyes rolled as his serpentine lips curled in a distinctive Snapeish expression of "turn to page three hundred and ninety-four."

"Hello, Grandfather," the one draped in his mouth squeaked.

"Mfmmfffff, Granfhfhpgaaaather," the one wrapped in his coils mumbled.

"You, my son," Hermione said as she slithered down the steps to slurp her dangling son, "are Drathor."

"And you, my son," Loki said as he pried the other son from Severus' rescuing coils, "are Thaco."

"Both of you are christened after two namesakes you seem so desperately eager to honor and emulate," Hermione and Loki said together.

Jane, up on the dais with Thor, gave him the eye.

Thor's eyes grew wide. "Why are you looking at me like that, my Jane?"

Meanwhile, Theo and Harry leaned on their spears as they stared holes into Draco.

Draco flinched. " _ **What?!"**_

Theo pantomimed a hunter with his hands tripping over a rock and landing on top of a seal and ending up floating out to sea riding a dead seal.

Harry pantomimed frantic swimming that could have doubled as the explosion of an undersea volcano.

Draco glared. "Twelve hundred years and you _**still**_ won't let me live that down!"

The Jötunn female beside him murmured something into his ear, and Draco flushed dark purple.

"Okay, well, the ending was great—" he confessed.

Hermione plunked Drathor in Draco's lap as Loki thumped Thaco into Thor's startled arms.

The serpentlets looked up wide-eyed at their namesakes. "Hallo, Uncle," they said together.

Both Draco and Thor were instantly undone and loved all over the twin baby serpentlets.

Severus sighed as Kingsley nudged him with his snout, his tongue flicking in amusement.

"The universe is utterly doomed," Severus said.

Kingsley flared his purple feathers and head-bobbed. "Oh, it could be worse. The last one _could_ have been born ginger.

Severus' crimson eyes whirled in horror. "Gods, no. I refuse to stare at Weasley anything until the end of eternity."

Hermione's head rubbed against Severus' and she purred lovingly. "Good thing I have a weakness for raven hair and snarkitude. I fear I must blame my father."

Severus' serpent muzzle turned upward in a grin. "Always."

* * *

The plush spider brigade scurries by carrying comfy pillows and blankets.

" _Happy ever after time!"_

" _Yup!"_

" _Also time for Dragon and the Rose to go to bed."_

" _Corvus does too!"_

" _True…"_

" _Okay, let's split the pillows and blankets between them!"_

" _Sounds like a plan!"_

" _One more story done!"_

" _Amazing!"_

" _Do you think we'll get cuddles?"_

" _Only if we aren't late!"_

" _EEEeeee!"_

" _Let's hurry!"_

Spiders rush off carrying assorted bedtime implements from pillows to toothbrushes.

One spider, however, bumps into a wall, a bucket stuck over his head. He gives a sad squeak, plopping down on all eight legs.

Fonn bounds in, screeches to a halt, scoops up Bucket, and carries him off to bed.

* * *

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: At last…. The end. Praise the Dragon and the Rose for staying up to help me finish this past her bedtime. Send her fresh strawberry pie. Praise her!
> 
> Thud.
> 
> Τρία walks in, gathers up the puddle of Corvus, and carries her off to bed.
> 
> Zzzzzzzz….


End file.
